


The Case of Katara's Mother

by withcameraandpen



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, F/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withcameraandpen/pseuds/withcameraandpen
Summary: Disgraced ex-cop Zuko now works as a private investigator in Republic City. Katara hires him to investigate the suspicious circumstances surrounding her mother's death which will take him into the city's seedy underbelly. While interrogating a crime family princess, a disowned heiress, and a naive Councilor, his sister offers him a way back into the PD and their police chief father's good graces. Zuko's greatest challenge lies in navigating the sharp wit and hot temper of his very own client. Can they find a way to work together and catch the culprit before he strikes again?
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 73
Kudos: 110
Collections: Will Read Later





	1. The Girl in the Graveyard

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of Zuko’s car as it crawled along the cemetery roads. The paths were winding and narrow, forcing cars to slow down as though they were part of a processional. His car slunk around the bends like a predator, all too familiar with his hunting ground. Zuko hated coming to the cemetery at first, but the discomfort wore off over time.

“Turn here,” said Iroh in the passenger seat, holding the bouquet of lilies as delicately like a newborn. “Seems we’ll need a detour.”

Their usual route was unusually clogged with cars, the overflow from a packed crowd surrounding a grave on a hill. As they passed by the funeral, Zuko noticed out of the corner of his eye the immediate family of the deceased. So he assumed, at least, judging by the people giving them a wide berth. A woman was beside herself at the graveside, with a lost-looking man’s arms around her. An older man who looked like both of them was staring into the grave, stoic and silent.

“Eyes on the road, Zuko.” Uncle Iroh’s words were gentle as always. Zuko tore his eyes from the funeral and drove on. “Thank you. People in grief deserve their privacy.”

In short order, they pulled up to the Huo family crypt, an imposing stone beast that repelled even the kindest of mourners. They climbed out and Iroh handed the lilies to Zuko, the familiar, sweet aroma hitting him like smelling salts. Feeling the cold stares of the mourners on his neck, Zuko walked faster until he’d arrived at the crypt doors, which he unlocked and pushed open with trembling hands. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for his uncle; his eyes slid back to the funeral and the sobbing girl. She had quickly dried her tears and was holding her head high, and now her big, round, blue eyes were locked on his face.

His hand reflexively rose to his scar, his fingertips running along the taut, scarred flesh on his cheek. He looked away and went inside.

The crypt was as quiet and musty as it was last year, though there were a few more cobwebs up in the corner. “I’ll speak to the groundskeeper,” muttered Zuko, eyeing the silvery filaments shivering in the dusty sunbeams. “It should be cleaner than this.”

“I don’t think she minds.”

He found himself frozen in his tracks, eyes locked on the last coffin on the left. Zuko could drive them this far, but these last few feet in the crypt were the longest distance to traverse. So with a gentle hand on his elbow, Iroh guided him towards the newest coffin in the crypt. As always, Zuko felt that bite of resentment; he had been visiting this coffin longer than he knew its occupant. Even though she died when he was a boy, he still couldn’t shake the memory of when he first looked at his mother’s corpse after it had been repaired and redressed by the funeral home. They had done such a good job that Zuko wasn’t sure if his mother was really gone. She looked like she could sit up, climb out of her casket, take him by the hand, and lead him out of there, and Zuko was half-afraid she would.

They arrived at the coffin. Zuko took a shuddering breath and placed the bouquet of lilies on top of the coffin. “Happy birthday, Mom.”

Zuko and Iroh stared in silence at the coffin. Zuko supposed he should be praying, or meditating, or doing something, but only one thing preyed upon his mind. “What would she think of me?”

Iroh replied patiently, “She would be proud of you.”

“Can’t you tell me the truth this one time?”

“I’m not lying.” Iroh fixed him with that infernally wise look in his eyes. “Starting your own business is no easy feat.”

“It’s no business,” he snapped. “It’s me sitting in a room where I wait for people to ask me to follow other people.”

“If I recall correctly,” said Iroh, scratching his chin with a finger, “that was a substantial part of your workday before, anyway.”

“When I was a beat cop, maybe. Being a detective was a lot more than following people.” He was the youngest cop in Republic City to become a detective, only to have that prized rank ripped away the following year. Now he made his living sitting in cafés and watching the people within them, waiting for his targets to make one marriage-breaking mistake before he went running back to his client like a child tattling on his sister. Being a detective was the only thing he knew how to do but becoming this particular variant of the species was nothing to write home about.

“Your mother was proud of you no matter what,” said Iroh, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “As am I. There is no force in this world more powerful than the desire and reverence for the truth. I’m happy you learned that.”

Zuko felt something sharp and barbed twisting in his chest. A pink slip was a pretty powerful force, too, especially when it was signed by his own father.

“I think it’s teatime, Uncle.”

Iroh smiled, but it was one of those sad, pitying smiles. “Teatime it is.”

They took the rest of the day off and headed back to their apartment. Iroh brewed them jasmine tea, which tasted strange alongside the Italian comfort food Zuko had ordered in. Iroh contented himself with one-way chitchat for a while, and then he gave Zuko a crushing hug and left him alone for the night.

Zuko ditched the tea and collapsed on the couch with a glass of whiskey. He did inherit his uncle’s appreciation for the stuff after a stubborn teenage resistance, but it wasn’t quite strong enough to provide a dull, dreamless sleep. He turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, passing through a brainless reality television show and a crime drama he couldn’t bear to watch before he came to a broadcast of a speech from Councilor Acharya.

 _“Something is wrong in Republic City,”_ said Acharya to a spellbound audience on the steps of City Hall. _“Something that cost us three of our beloved Councilors including my own mentor, Councilor Gyatso. I vow before you to make things right again.”_

Zuko flipped back to the brainless reality show. He didn’t want to contemplate the city, because contemplating the city meant contemplating the Republic City Police Department, which meant contemplating his loss of the rank of detective. He was good at that kind of work, one of the best in the city. But he’d ruined it all with one misplaced move, one path he shouldn’t have walked. Now he was walking the streets of the city and picking up scraps of opportunities tossed out of apartment windows to shatter on the blood-soaked sidewalks.

In a city like this, opportunity was everywhere for a guy who poked, prodded, and pried for a living. People were growing more and more suspicious. Spouses refused to trust each other. Folks on the down-and-out spent their last for him to search through family trees on the slim hope their estranged family would send funds. The wealthy trusted no one, and often hired him out as a bodyguard. Those protection jobs were dull, but easy; his scar did most of the work. And those jobs were also the bulk of his income. This place was going to the dogs, despite the police department’s best efforts. No one was safe from the bite of a bullet these days, not even the people the city favored.

The next morning, Zuko arrived at his office door promptly at nine o’clock, fishing in his pocket for his key. He peeked through the window of his uncle’s tea shop and found it bustling with activity as per usual. The line at the counter was six people deep, and patrons circled the crammed tables like vultures on the lookout for an open space. Zuko smiled; his uncle made the best tea in Republic City, and Republic City knew it.

A young woman sat at one of the nice booths in the corner, drumming her fingers on the surface of the table. She looked up when he glanced in, her clear blue eyes cutting through the perfumed air of the tea shop. Those eyes tugged his heart like it was on a string, and they a bell or two, too. Zuko had always been able to learn plenty about a person by looking into their eyes, but anyone could tell at a glance that she had a lot of power hiding in that blue. What was she doing in his uncle’s tea shop when she should be commanding battalions?

Probably looking for some peace and quiet, and that peace and quiet didn’t include getting ogled. He shook off her gaze and the strange spell it cast and climbed upstairs to his office. Huo Investigations wasn’t much—only a dingy office that could never hold heat—but it was enough to get the job done. Zuko had only just gotten used to modest lodgings.

He took off his coat and went to hang it on the coat rack (his uncle insisted would add a touch of class) when he heard footsteps running up the stairs behind him. He turned and saw the young woman with the hypnotic gaze just as she reached the landing.

She stopped short and sucked in a gasp as her eyes locked on his scar. He stood there and let her stare. He’d learned that it was better to give clients a good, long look at it so they got familiar; at any rate, it was better than catching them sneaking looks at it. People were a lot less helpful when they were fixated on his scar. 

But then she said something shocking. “I saw you at the cemetery yesterday!”

Zuko’s stomach jolted. He knew he recognized those blue eyes! “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She nodded. “And for yours.”

“It was a long time ago.” His voice was stilted, a dead giveaway.

Grief had always paralyzed him. He had gotten better at dealing with the grief of others during his time on the force, but he suddenly felt helpless without his detective shield. After a moment, he felt his uncle’s gentle instruction in etiquette kick in, and he said, “Let me take your coat.”

“Oh. Thank you, but no thank you,” she said, “It’s a little chilly in here, isn’t it? Especially for the time of year.”

He shrugged and opened his office door. “Guess I got used to it.”

Her head tilted like a curious cat’s. “ _You’re_ P.I. Huo? Sorry, I don’t mean to sound surprised.”

“None taken, Miss—?”

“Ashoona. Katara Ashoona.”

He gestured for her to enter his office. “I get that a lot. People think I’m too young to do this kind of work, but they don’t realize that’s an advantage.”

She frowned skeptically as they sat, tightly clutching her plain-looking bag in her lap. “What are you talking about?”

“People underestimate the young, and when people are confident they can’t be caught, they start making mistakes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You sound pretty confident.”

“I know my weaknesses as well as my strengths, Miss Ashoona.” He gestured to his face. “I know I’m not good at blending in.”

Usually people averted their eyes from him when he said that, like they could pretend his scar didn’t exist. But Miss Ashoona kept on looking, leveling him with a no-nonsense gaze. “Then what _are_ you good at?”

He liked this girl.

“Tracking people down.” His chin tilted up. “I’m pretty good at figuring out what happened, and then what will happen next.”

She relaxed in her chair. “Sounds like I’m in the right place.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “I assure you, Miss Ashoona, that I can fix whatever trouble you’re in.”

She didn’t take the bait. She shook her head a little, sighing through her nose. “I wouldn’t promise anything yet, Detective Huo.”

People usually assumed their problem was difficult to solve, and that their case would be the greatest test of his wits. But Zuko had the skills and the aptitude for following a trail, and the Huo family strength of conviction that would ensure he saw this caper, like every one, through to the end. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“There's not much to tell. My mother was murdered.”

The air in Zuko’s chest stilled. Murder investigations used to be his bread and butter, and he was damn good at them, too, but…

“Miss Ashoona,” he began, hoping he had inherited his uncle’s gentility, too, “Did the police investigate?”

“Hardly.” She scowled. “They said she died of heart failure. My mother was healthy as a horse! I’m an EMT, so I know what someone looks like when they’re experiencing cardiac arrest. She was the picture of health! And I know you’re thinking everyone’s bodies are different, and I was, too, but I mean it when I say there was no way it was a heart attack!”

Zuko wasn’t thinking that. He was thinking that she had already prepared counter arguments to his questions. The clients who came prepared for a fight often had slim evidence, if any at all.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not saying anything.”

“I’m thinking.” He leaned forward in his seat, searching those eyes. “There must be some other reason you came to me. There’s something else you can’t explain away, right?”

Her face softened, and she smiled for just a moment. She was still at the stage of grief where any inkling of happiness felt like disrespect. “How did you know?”

He saw how upset she was at the cemetery. People who are that aggrieved don’t seek out more grief if they can help it. They don’t want to know their loved one would have had more time if someone else hadn’t stepped in. But instead of all that, he said, “I make a living on nagging feelings.”

She nodded slowly. “It’s more than a nagging feeling,” she muttered. “I know it. I don’t have any sort of smoking gun or anything, it’s all too suspicious. My mother—well, she was the editor-in-chief of the _Republic City Herald._ ”

Zuko’s remaining eyebrow lifted. “Editor-in-chief?” That explained why her graveside was packed yesterday. She must have left behind a lot of people who looked up to her.

She nodded knowingly. “Exactly. If she was killed, it was because of something she was working on.”

He frowned. “Do editors-in-chief investigate stories?”

“It wasn’t like my mother was totally divorced from the stories her reporters pursued!” she fired back. “There must have been something she was working on that someone wanted to keep quiet.”

In all his years as a cop and then as a private detective, Zuko had never learned how to break news gently, but he did his best now. “Miss Ashoona, so far all I’ve heard is theory.”

“It’s no theory!” she snapped, rising from her chair. “I know what I saw when I saw her. It was like she was—she was just sleeping when I saw her in the morgue.”

He knew well enough the frightening power of a lifelike corpse. After funeral homes worked their magic and dressed the dead for the eyes of the living, bodies looked like they could lead dances or give speeches if not for the heavy stillness that draped over them like a shroud. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I have evidence!”

He stopped short and shut up. But she softened and her eyes darted around as she sat again, tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear. “Well, I don’t actually have it, but the fact that I don’t is the evidence itself.”

“Speak plainly, please.”

Her eyes narrowed at him again. “My mother started carrying a notebook a few months before she passed. You’re right to wonder if editors-in-chief work a beat, because they usually don’t. But I remembered that notebook from when my brother and I were young, before she moved up the ladder and started managing stories instead of writing them. That’s why I noticed it. I hadn’t seen it in so long that I couldn’t help _but_ notice it.”

“What did she use it for?”

“Her work. She was very careful not to let my brother and I look at it when she was working on something big.” Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward in her seat, grabbing the edge of his desk like a protective handlebar. “Here’s the thing. We weren’t keeping track of her purse or anything while she was rushed to the hospital, but when we got her things back, her notebook was nowhere to be found.”

“Do you know what she was working on?”

“No. I’m sorry. But I know it must have been big if it got her killed.”

He leaned back in his chair. Lack of evidence as evidence itself. A dead journalist and a disappearing notebook that may or may not contain deadly secrets. He had a whole lot of nothing in his lap, but Zuko saw the fire of absolute certainty in Miss Ashoona’s eyes.

This wasn’t a delusion by a grief-stricken daughter. Zuko had no doubt that something terrible had befallen Ashoona the elder. Her daughter’s conviction and passion resonated with him; she refused to be led astray, and so she found someone to follow her lead.

“I’ll take your case.”

Relief swept over her face. Zuko got the distinct impression that he was the first person to believe her. “You will?” she asked, with another little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“If you’ll pardon my saying so, you couldn’t have found a better person in Republic City to investigate your mother’s death.”

It wasn’t surprising that the RCPD missed something big when they were down one of their best detectives. If everything went well, Zuko could bring this perp to justice, calm the suffering of a grieving family, and maybe having solved such a high-profile killing would convince his father to bestow his shield upon him once again.

She beamed at him. “Thank you, Detective. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“No thanks necessary.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a notebook and pen, which he pushed towards his client. “What I need from you right now is information about your mother. Name, birth date, next of kin, and what you know about the circumstances in which she died.”

She picked up the pen curiously. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “I don’t know. I think I expected you to record our conversation or something.”

“That’ll come later if you’ll consent to it. I find it easier to write down personal details, so I always have them on hand.”

“Fair enough.” She wrote down names and dates, and then looked back up at him. “There’s one more thing I should mention. My brother was there that day. He met her for lunch and—and saw her die.”

Zuko opened his mouth, but she shut him up with that fiery gaze again. “It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.”

The person who last saw the victim alive was always the first suspect, but he could honor her wishes for the time being. “All the same, I need to talk to him.”

“Of course.” She bit her lip, and then released it and said, “I should go with you when you do.”

There it is—the voice in the back of his mind that reminded him not to trust his clients too easily. It had been suspiciously quiet up until now. Why would she go to the trouble of hiring a private detective if she would follow him while he investigated? “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Your brother might know something that would upset you to hear.”

She shook her head, a nostalgic little smile coming to her face. “I know my brother. He doesn’t pull his punches. Not in the ring, and definitely not in conversation.” She sucked in another breath and froze up, looking like she’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

Zuko raised his eyebrow. “Does he fight at the Rumble?”

The Rumble was a bareknuckle boxing ring, a hazing ritual among the RCPD, and Republic City’s worst-kept secret. “I work for you,” he reminded her. “Everything between us is strictly confidential.”

She relaxed, shrugging bashfully. “He does. He’s fighting again tonight, and I think having me there would get him to open up more, actually. Think you can make it?”

It wasn’t ideal, but it was a concession he could make. “I’ll see you there. In the meantime, I’ll see what headway I can make on my own.”

“Great.”

Smiling warmly, she pushed the notebook towards him, and then got up to leave. “Thank you. You’re the only one who believes me, but I know something terrible happened to my mother. I’m glad to have someone who’s finally on my side.”

“Thank me later.” He still had to figure out what this terrible something was. He had a tough case ahead of him. 

Zuko was smiling when she left. It felt good to be called _Detective_ again and really feel like one. Tracking cheaters and guarding heiresses was one thing, but passionate Miss Ashoona had waltzed in with a path back into his father’s good graces. If he could solve the murder of a city hero and hand the perp off to the RCPD, he’d get his detective shield back and proudly wear his father’s motto once again: _Officium, disciplina, et honor._


	2. The Blue Bruiser

“Been a while, Zuzu.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Relax. I’m only teasing.” Azula Huo, the shining star of the police force, drank deeply from her wineglass, her eyes peering over the rim with a vulture-like hunger. The Huo kids were never close, though they might have grown out of their sibling rivalry if their father didn’t so clearly play favorites.

Zuko and his sister were ensconced in an artisanal soup-and-sandwich joint, the kind of place that charged through the nose for portions that wouldn’t feed a bird. They occupied a secluded booth toward the back, away from any prying eyes and ears. He had asked for the meeting, but she had picked the place; if he wanted to get information out of her, any old diner wouldn’t do for Queen Azula.

“Fine, fine.” She shrugged, poking at her mushroom-and-something soup. “Why are you here, though? If you’re getting married, I insist on meeting the lucky girl.”

Zuko steeled himself. Azula was the last person he would ever want to owe, but Miss Ashoona’s case called for quick turnaround, and he couldn’t afford pride. “I need your help.”

Her shock passed quickly over her face. She leaned back in her booth, eyeing him like a judge on a towering bench. It wasn’t enough that she had the ball in her court; all it was was an opportunity to take the entire court for herself. She wanted everything, and nothing less.

“I’m surprised. I thought you hated asking for help,” she asked, her voice so sweet that it sickened him. “What kind of favor do you need from me?” 

“An important one,” he said through his teeth. “Please, Azula. If you do this for me, I’ll owe you.”

She idly stirred her soup, though he caught the flash of interest in her eyes. “What’s this favor, after all? Must be pretty tough.”

“I need the autopsy report of Kya Ashoona.”

Azula gave a violent start. She fumbled for words—a first, Zuko realized—until she asked, “An autopsy report?”

“Yes.”

“From a cop that’s not on that case?” she tutted. “That alone will look suspicious, especially if I’m found out for handing evidence to a _citizen._ ”

She knew just where to hit him. He had to be strong for once in his damn life and take his mother’s advice: _ignore her_. “You could say you asked for the records because you see a similarity to another death. They’ll share information easier with a current officer than a former one, as you so kindly mentioned, but maybe you leave a file open on your desk when your brother stops by for a visit. And if I get caught with the file—if—you can spin it so that you never noticed it was missing until after I was gone.” He leaned back in his chair. “You get off scot-free.”

She locked onto him with that cat-like, calculating look, like he was a case instead of her brother. And then it passed, and a greedy smirk spread across his sister’s face. 

“I’ll do it,” she said in that sickening voice, “but I want a favor from you, and then I want you to tell me something.”

He swallowed the bile in his throat. “Of course, Azula.”

“I want to know why you got fired.”

He winced as though she’d struck him. “What for?” 

“I’m curious.” Her eyebrows lifted and her lips pursed, and she was the picture of innocence. “Can’t blame a girl for being curious, especially after you’ve been so secretive about it. And if there’s something I can do to help my dear brother out, well, why shouldn’t you tell me?”

He scowled at her. “This is really what you want?”

Her eyes glowed. “More than anything.”

“I was fired for insubordination.”

She tutted. “Anyone could find that out,” she said, with a sharp smirk. “Tell me something only you and Father know.”

“You mean he hasn’t told you yet?” he snapped. “You two haven’t laughed nights away at how far beneath you two I was? I’m surprised, Azula!”

“Easy!” Her voice was low, but hard. “I don’t know what delusion you’re laboring under. Father’s told me nothing and, frankly, I’m tired of being left in the dark.”

A muscle started jumping in his jaw. Of all the things he could do for her, she had to settle on this? “You swear you’ll get me that autopsy report?”

“Come by my office tomorrow morning. I’ll have it ready for you.”

He sighed. His sister was conniving, but she was good for her word. “He found out that I was using our resources to investigate a cold case.”

Her eyes lit up like a hunter closing in on a kill. “What case?”

“I gave you plenty.” She would have to drag it out of him another day; he had unraveled enough for one afternoon.

Chuckling, Azula downed the rest of her drink and rooted through her bag, pulling out a gleaming crocodile skin wallet. “I’ll get you your autopsy report. But you still agreed to one more favor.”

He sighed. “What else you got for me?”

“Nothing undoable. Just look into the Councilor Murders.”

The subject change was so sudden that Zuko nearly flinched again. “ _Why?_ ”

The Councilor Murders got their sensational moniker from the overeager press. In fact, the while the deaths of three prominent Councilors over the last six months were highly suspicious, there wasn’t enough evidence to call them homicides, much less related to one another. The suspicion evaporated once they were all declared to have died from natural causes. 

“We’ve had to close them,” Azula replied, irritation flashing across her face. “You and I both know something fishy was going on, but the Council has its claws in the force. Not even Father can do anything about it.”

“What are you talking about?”

She looked at him like a put-out teacher. “You’re smarter than that. You know everyone in this city is connected, and you know if certain Councilors don’t want to be found out, then there’s nothing we can do. They have an entire city of resources at their disposal—stopping the RCPD is easily done.”

Zuko lowered his eyes. He was no stranger to rumblings of misplaced loyalties and forced alliances, but he’d done everything in his power to steer clear of those entanglements. No one could dismantle Republic City’s web from the inside.

Azula shrugged. “Anyway, even if they could continue the investigation, I don’t think they’d find the guy. They were looking in the wrong place.”

“Where should they look?”

“In the heart of the Council.”

Goosebumps rose on the back of his neck. The Council was supposed to be the height of honor and justice, but murder from within its walls wasn’t out of the realm of possibility in a city like this. “Who do you suspect?”

“I don’t know. If it were me, I’d look at the inner circle of the victims. Everyone jockeys for power on the Council, but it’s hard to tell who wants it enough to kill for it.”

The Huo kids knew each other a little too well. Zuko knew how his sister liked to bend the rules and bank favors, and Azula knew how to busy her brother’s mind. “I’ll look into it when I’m done with my current case.”

She smirked. “I knew you’d say that.”

The Rumble was one of the most popular joints in Republic City, despite the broken laws that coated its floor in a thick layer of grime. People pack into an abandoned warehouse at the city docks to watch scrappy amateur boxers circle each other while invisible higher-ups made a killing at betting tables. Zuko knew cops who frequented the joint and had even taken a turn in the ring, like his sister’s childhood friend, Ty Lee Douzheng. She may look sweet, but Zuko knew exactly who to bet on the night she debuted and walked out with bulging pockets.

Eager fans flooded the entrance of the Rumble but Miss Ashoona led him easily through the crowd, a hand on his arm as she bobbed and weaved between spectators. With a warm, familiar smile to the bouncer, she slipped through the door and pulled Zuko into the cacophony.

The warehouse was big enough to host three or four boxing matches at the same time, with the rings set up in a row down the center. Fans crowded the rings to cheer on their favorite fighters with ferocious glee while more casual spectators drifted between the fights, migrating between exciting knockout blows. His client was on her tiptoes, looking for a sign of their quarry.

“Excuse me?” a timid voice said on his other side. Zuko turned and found a young woman with waves of pearly white hair smiling sweetly at him. “You look a little lost. I think I can help you—I know my way around.”

“He’s with me, Yue.” Miss Ashoona’s hand tightened on his arm as she reappeared from the crowd. The white-haired woman’s sweet veneer vanished as his client continued, “We need to talk to Sokka.”

“He’s fighting in a couple minutes,” said the woman named Yue, her expression souring distinctly. “And you know how he gets with his pre-fight prep.”

“It’s urgent,” Zuko replied. “A matter of life and death.”

Yue’s lips pursed. “It’s always a matter of life and death, isn't it,” she replied dryly, gesturing for them to follow her. “Come with me. You have two minutes.”

She led them through the congestion toward the back of the warehouse and around a plywood wall, bringing them into a row of cramped dressing rooms with curtains in place of doors. She led them to one on the far end, the biggest room of them all which had a luxurious red velvet curtain hanging in the doorway. Yue rapped on the plywood and then pushed the curtain aside. “You got visitors, baby.”

Sokka Ashoona wasn’t especially burly. In fact, he seemed malnourished compared to the brutish types Zuko glimpsed in the rings. And yet he had fine, untouched features such as a never-broken nose and two full rows of teeth, all intact. He looked like he’d never been in a fight, and yet he occupied the best dressing room of the bunch. _This guy must be pretty damn quick on his feet._

He turned around in his chair, tugging the end of his wrist wrapping tight with his teeth. He was draped in blue from his navy silk robe to the undershirt that bore a wolf’s head insignia. “The Blue Bruiser’s always glad to meet fans!” he said, tucking the edge of his wrap under the layers and flexing his wrist. “I’ll be heading out into the ring, soon, so if you could make it quick— _Katara?_ ”

Just like Yue, Sokka’s confident persona shattered when he saw his sister, rocketing to his feet and totally ignoring Zuko. “What are you doing here?”

Miss Ashoona was also ignoring Zuko, pushing past him to confront her brother. “We need to talk.”

“She said it’s life or death,” Yue added, folding her arms.

Sokka’s jaw clenched, and a shadow passed over his face. “It’s about Mom, isn’t it?” he muttered. 

“Of course it is, Sokka.” Miss Ashoona reached blindly behind her and pulled Zuko forward. “What else would it be?”

He turned to Zuko and sized him up like he was about to face him in the ring. “Who’s this chump?”

“Hi, Mister Ashoona.” Zuko extended his hand. “I’m Detective Huo.”

Sokka balked. “You hired a detective?”

“You know there are too many unanswered questions,” Miss Ashoona fired back. “He’s going to help us figure out what really happened to Mom. Please, if you could just talk to him for a few minutes—”

“I can’t do this now!” He shot a guilty look at Zuko and continued, “Not right before a fight. I’m sorry you came all this way, but I gotta get to work.”

Sure. The work defense came up often enough for Zuko to know it was bullshit. Sokka was sidestepping as many had before him, but he knew that if he let him dodge away now, Sokka would keep dodging as long as there was somewhere else to move. Zuko had to ask his questions tonight.

“You think later tonight we can talk?” he asked. “Just a few minutes after your match, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Yue came up to him and trailed a tender hand along his shoulders. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to talk to him once you’re out of the ring for tonight, darling.” 

A sly look came into Sokka’s eyes. “Great idea, princess. I’ll meet you once I lose a match.”

Miss Ashoona scowled. “Don’t you dare—”

“Deal.”

“See, Katara? He’s reasonable.” He and the Blue Bruiser shook hands, Yue smiling angelically beside them. “See you later,” Sokka said as he offered Yue his arm and they sauntered past him together, his chest puffing out as he led her away. Yue shot Miss Ashoona a look over her shoulder before they disappeared, heading down the hall to the ring.

“That was a sucker’s bet!” Miss Ashoona exclaimed. “I should’ve told you—”

“Nearly unbeatable?”

Her eyes widened. “He rarely loses,” she said. “Perfect winning streak, even when he was just starting out. How’d you know?” 

“It’s my job to figure things out.”

She looked mildly impressed, but it didn’t last long. “He’s good, Detective. He’s not getting out of the ring tonight, which means all this will have been a waste.” She groaned, sinking into Sokka’s abandoned chair. “If Yue hadn’t put that idea into his head, we’d be so much further!”

Zuko stole a glance at his client and had to hold back a snicker. “Not her biggest fan, huh?”

She made a face. “I’d think she was great for him if it wasn’t her family running this joint. But he’s crazy about her, and he’s almost as stubborn as me.”

“Perfect.” Zuko snagged the roll of wrappings from Sokka’s dressing table and snipped off two long strips with scissors he found next to them. “I have a plan, Miss Ashoona. I’ll get your brother to talk.”

He stuffed one strip into his pocket nodded towards the door. “Care to join me?”

A baffled Miss Ashoona followed Zuko out of the dressing rooms and back to the fights. Sokka was in the center ring, working the crowd into a frenzy. Even in amateur bareknuckle matches, someone had to be the heel; Sokka made a pretty good bad guy in the ring, relishing the cheers of the fans who loved to hate him. 

“If you’re unbeatable long enough,” explained Miss Ashoona, “people begin to resent you.”

He nodded. “Which turns you into a legend.”

“And being a legend pays the bills.”

Sokka’s opponent entered the ring. He had a prep school haircut and a boyish charm about him, beaming and waving at the spectators as though he were atop a parade float. He humbly accepted the favor of the crowd, who toppled over themselves in their cheers for him. This guy wasn’t exactly a brawny type, but he had some muscle on him and a chipped tooth that proved he’d taken a lick or two before. He was clearly poised to become a crowd favorite, and he looked like he had a decent chance at taking down the Bruiser.

A referee materialized and had the competitors shake hands. They threw some barbs at each other—Sokka’s were very poorly received—and went to their corners as the referee began the countdown, which the spectators eagerly picked up and finished to deafening proportions.

Then the fight began, and Zuko saw how the legend of the Blue Bruiser grew.

Sokka attacked quickly and precisely, leading his brawnier opponent in a dizzying dance. He artfully dodged Prep School’s defensive blows, which looked slow and meandering by comparison, and followed up with smaller strikes to the gut and the chin. They weren’t big, weighty knockout hits; they were designed to slowly chip away at the target’s endurance and awareness, whittling him down until he wasn’t a threat. This wasn’t a boxing match—it was a _chess_ match!

In what seemed like no time at all, Sokka had Prep School wavering on his feet. With one solid crack to the jaw, his opponent fell to the ground with the force of a collapsing skyscraper. 

Zuko could barely hear the referee’s countdown over the roars of the crowd. Frantic cheering for him to get up, and catcalls and jeers to a very cocky Sokka who ate it up like ambrosia. The jeers doubled due to some unseen signal, but it meant that Sokka was the indisputable winner.

Sokka’s arms opened wide the crowd. “Anyone else want a try?”

And to Zuko’s shock, people eagerly came forward to try their luck with the Blue Bruiser. He almost expected them to mob the guy all at once, but one by one they leaped up to the ring, and one by one Sokka knocked them down. Miss Ashoona was right—the Blue Bruiser would be up all night if someone didn’t do something.  
The crowd learned its lesson before long, with Sokka sending half a dozen hopefuls to the filthy floor. They were still jeering, but no one else was stupid enough to try and take the Bruiser. 

“Miss Ashoona,” said Zuko, stripping off his jacket, “would you please hold my coat?”

She took his coat from him and sensed her questioning gaze as he climbed up the steps to the ring. Zuko took a little comfort in how quickly Sokka’s smile vanished, even if he was able to cover it up a moment later. Zuko had spent the entire night observing the Blue Bruiser’s fighting style, and a shake in his confidence, however momentary, could make all the difference.

Zuko lifted his fists, which were bound in the Blue Bruiser’s own wrappings. “Ready?”

Sokka wasn’t playing up the crowd when he sneered at Zuko, lifting his fists. This wasn’t a performance anymore. It was personal.

But Zuko had figured out Sokka’s secret. He always attacked first, which was why Zuko didn’t waste time. He charged forward and struck Sokka in the stomach quick and harsh. Sokka doubled over, which gave Zuko the opportunity to sweep his leg under the Bruiser’s knees, knocking them out from under him. Sokka buckled, tumbling to the dusty floor of the ring.

Zuko heard Miss Ashoona gasp loud and clear, but everyone else at the Rumble was spellbound. It’s not every day when you see a giant fall.

But he didn’t stay down long. Sokka launched to his feet and delivered a swift uppercut to Zuko. He dodged, but not perfectly; the blow scraped his jaw enough to make his skull rattle. Zuko struck wide and hard again, connecting with Sokka’s side, but he got an answer in the form of a resounding one-two punch. Sokka was reading _his_ fighting style now, which meant Zuko’s seconds were numbered. He had to stay on the defensive if he wanted to get anywhere!

But Sokka wasn’t giving him an opening. He’d recovered from that momentary blow to his confidence to launch an impressive offensive, forcing Zuko to constantly to evade instead of strike. An elbow here, a kick there, and suddenly Sokka had hooked his foot around Zuko’s leg and swept him to the ground, pinning him with an almost careless confidence.

Zuko fought and fought, but he couldn’t kick the guy off him. The referee’s countdown sounded like the toll of a mournful church bell, and the atmosphere in the Rumble seemed pretty damn somber, too.

The referee reached ten. The crowd applauded listlessly. “You should be proud of yourself, pal,” said Sokka, that stupid smirk back in place as he climbed off him and helped him up. “You got me on the ground. Good for you!”

Zuko’s breathing was shallow as the referee led him back down the stairs. He saw Miss Ashoona coming towards him, jacket in hand and determination on her face. “I can figure something out—”

She pushed his jacket into his chest and stormed up the stairs.

Sokka paled. He well and truly paled, and Zuko couldn’t help but follow his example. He’d seen passion and steel in his client when they first met, but this? _What are you_ made _of, Miss Ashoona?_

Sokka was talking to his sister, clearly agitated as she raised her fists, but the blood pounding in Zuko’s ears drowned them out. Now he had to fight just to stay on his feet, which proved difficult with the heat of the crowd pressing in on him, but he was enraptured as Miss Ashoona managed to convince her brother to fight. He reluctantly put his hands up—

And then, she put him to shame.

She had figured out her brother’s secret, too, and had attacked first, dodging every swing he threw back at her. They were very well matched, fighting with precision and power, but Sokka couldn’t quite evade every blow and didn’t land each of his own as squarely as possible. The crowd was roaring with delight, completely on Miss Ashoona’s side as the fighting reached a crescendo, brother and sister exchanging blows with razor-sharp timing and precision. It was intelligent, clean, and fierce.

Their breakneck pace slowed when Sokka, tired from his previous bouts, began to waver on his feet. Miss Ashoona struck hard and fast with a right hook to his eye, which sent him tumbling to the ground . She leaped on him, throwing her weight onto his chest with practiced ease and pinning his wrists to the dusty floor. 

The referee counted to ten. The crowd cheered. The legend of the Blue Bruiser was shattered! 

Miss Ashoona turned to Zuko, her face full of hard determination and a little bit of gloating joy, her dark hair falling from its practical braid and framing her face. Zuko stared at her, stunned and awed by the passion that radiated from her tensed muscles, her skin glistening with sweat. Her desperation-tinged determination was…familiar, and he felt a strange pull in his chest, like a rope tugging his heart towards her.

But she was already coming to him, having slung her brother’s arm over her shoulders and helping him to the edge of the ring. Zuko remembered himself just in time to come to her aid, taking Sokka’s weight onto his own still-aching body and helping him towards the exit of the Rumble.

“Shouldn’t we take him back to his dressing room?” Zuko asked over the cheering.

Miss Ashoona shook his head. “Not after the licking I gave him. We’re taking him home.”

“Sokka!” A white-haired blur shot out of the crowd, throwing herself at Sokka. He winced under the onslaught, and only when she backed off could Zuko see Yue’s face bursting with concern. 

“Let’s go to my place!” she said to Miss Ashoona. “We can take care of him there.”

Zuko didn’t like the sound of a mafioso’s daughter “taking care of” his witness, but clearly Miss Ashoona liked it even less. Still, she hiked her brother’s arm further up her shoulder and followed the path Yue cut through the crowd and out of the Rumble.


	3. The Great Divide

Yue’s apartment was lavish, upscale, and befitting a mafioso’s daughter. Yue, who had escorted Sokka from her equally expensive car and into this sultan’s palace, sat her beau down on a luxurious-looking sofa. Zuko’s world was spinning, his chin still smarting from Sokka’s uppercut and his body aching from everything else he got thrown at him. Yue muttered something about a first aid kit and then rushed off just as Zuko sank down beside Sokka, head lolling against the back of the impossibly plush cushion. 

“Did I get you too good?” Miss Ashoona asked, inspecting the cut above her brother’s eye. “Sorry.”

Sokka waved her off, as though she hadn’t just stripped away his reputation at the Rumble and his good standing with the Ivalu family. “Maybe now you can let go of that time when we were six?”

_What time?_ “Sounds fair,” said Miss Ashoona, prodding his ribs, “but I’m not forgetting about when we were eight.” 

Sokka rolled his eyes, wincing as she hit a sore spot. “What about the time we went to the museum?”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

Yue reappeared with a very robust first-aid kit and fluttered to Sokka. “Hey!” cried Miss Ashoona as Yue shooed her out of the way. “I’m _trained_ in emergency response, you know.”

The last thing they needed was to cause more conflict. For once, Miss Ashoona and Yue had a shared cause; maybe they’d make a little progress if he could steer her away from troubled waters. “Well, if you’re feeling generous,” he said, waving a feeble hand, “I think I could use an ice pack. Or three.”

“Of course.” Yue nodded with her chin to the kitchen. “Everything you need is in the freezer. Help yourself, Katara.”

Miss Ashoona raced into the kitchen and returned in record time, perching on the edge of the couch with a dishcloth full of ice clutched in her hand. She pressed the   
ice pack to his side, watching his face carefully as he winced. “Think you can hold that there?” she asked, guiding his hand onto hers.

He nodded. “You hurt?”

She shook her head, that proud smirk returning to her face. “He hardly got a hit on me.”

Zuko glanced back at Sokka, astonished again at how little malice he bore for his sister. Then an instinct erupted in Zuko, one he rarely felt but could nonetheless identify: the willingness to lose so his sister would win. The pride in Katara’s ability made Sokka’s shattered record palatable. It was sweet and kind, and so very foreign. Zuko could never imagine doing the same for his own sister, if only because Azula would never bear the indignity of losing to him. 

He quelled that uncomfortable lightness in his chest. He had business to attend to. “Mister Ashoona, we had a deal. We got you out of the ring. Now you have to talk.”  
Sokka’s head lolled back on the couch, his eyes closing. “Can’t you give him five minutes?” Yue snapped. “He just got pulverized, for La’s sake!”

“She didn’t _pulverize_ me, Yue,” Sokka muttered. “I’m okay. Why don’t you go ahead and get us a round of drinks? I know I could use one.”

Yue frowned at Sokka, Miss Ashoona, and Zuko in turn, and then she stood and marched away to the kitchen. Sokka sighed, the dazed look in his eye getting a lovesick quality. “Real firecracker, isn’t she?”

His sister folded her arms. “Something like that.”

He glanced up at her, his frown deepening. An exhaustion seeped into him that Zuko knew wasn’t because of the fight. “Any chance you could go help her?”

“Absolutely none.” Miss Ashoona had the look of a hunter in her eyes; she knew she’d struck the killing blow. “If you ever loved Mom, you’d tell us what we need to know.”

“Katara!” For the first time tonight, Sokka truly sounded like he’d taken a beating.

Miss Ashoona was unfazed, her glare as hard as steel. “Well?”

“What is it you don’t want her to know, Mister Ashoona?” 

Even if he never had that closeness to his own sister, Zuko could spot misguided protectiveness well enough. “There’s something you don’t want to talk about because you know it would crush her. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Sokka was silent, struck dumb by his deduction. The silence in the room was thick. Zuko could practically hear Sokka’s heart pounding as the walls around it came down. His client seemed equally surprised, and yet not all together shocked. This wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for a man like Sokka, it seemed. 

“You and I both know she’s strong. Whatever you know isn’t going to hurt her how you think it is,” Zuko continued. “If you don’t trust me, then trust her.”

The Ashoonas’ eyes met, and Sokka’s shoulders sagged. Zero for two to his sister.

“Mom and I weren’t alone,” he began. “At lunch. Someone else was there when she passed.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Miss Ashoona snapped. Zuko shot her a look, but if she realized, she ignored him. “You were at the Jasmine Café. In _public._ ”

“What I mean is that she didn’t _come_ alone.” Sokka’s evasive strategy came into play in this ring. He was shifting in his seat and looking this way and that, as if for an escape route. “She came with Aang.” 

It was like a bomb dropped in the room, and its shrapnel was the angry accusations Miss Ashoona hurled at her brother. “Aang was there?” she shrieked. “Why the hell didn’t you say so before?”

“Because this would happen!” Sokka cried out, gesturing wildly at her. “Things between you and Aang were messy enough —”

“So messy that you figured concealing evidence was—what, Sokka? In my best interest? Or that it was something your kid sister didn’t need to know?!”

“It was something that was going to upset you when you were already in a bad place!” He was sitting up straighter now, his voice growing deeper as he found the leg he wanted to stand on. “You and Aang ended messy. If you knew he was there at the time, I thought you’d—well, I didn’t know what it would do to you, but I knew it couldn’t be good.”

His client was choking on her words in their rush to get out. “You had no right to conceal that information from me! Especially when the circumstances of her death were so suspicious—”

“Aang was only there for a few minutes at the beginning—”

“And that didn’t strike you as suspicious?”

This interrogation was crumbling to pieces, but they had nonetheless hit on a diamond in the rough. “Did he say why he was there?” Zuko asked. “Do you remember if he gave a reason?”

“I think we’re done here!”

Yue burst from the kitchen, wielding a bottle of bourbon like a baseball bat . Zuko leaped to his feet, but Miss Ashoona stood her ground as their gracious host thundered, “You’ve made my poor Bruiser upset enough for one night, haven’t you? I think you two have concluded your business and can see yourself out!”

A vein was popping out of Miss Ashoona’s forehead. “We’re not finished!” 

“Yes.” Zuko met his client’s eyes. “We are.”

She shot Zuko a murderous look, but he was ready for it, and it seemed that his refusal to back down convinced her. She spun on her heel and marched out, leaving Zuko to wrap up the niceties. “Thank you, Miss Ivalu. We won’t darken your doorstep again.”

His client was waiting for him in the hallway, muttering profanities under her breath. He led the way out of the apartment, down the hall, and to the elevator bay before she finally found the right ones. 

“What in the world were you doing?” she snapped. Incensed even further by Zuko’s nonchalance as he hit the call button, she added, “Who do you think you are, walking out of that conversation? If you haven’t forgotten, you work for _me_ , Detective Huo, and you just ran away from our next break!”

“I’m sorry.”

Katara must not be used to apologies because she fell into shocked silence at his own quiet admission. “You’re right. We were getting great stuff from your brother. I pulled us out to protect our investigation.”

“How was pulling us out of there protecting our investigation?” she spluttered.

“We don’t get the truth by hounding our witnesses.” The elevator arrived and Zuko boarded, with his client following after him at a quick clip, as though magnetized to his words “The key to getting information is by earning people’s trust. Frankly, we were lucky that we got anything out of your brother, especially with that girl of his. I got us out of there before she gave us a clubbing. And who knows? Maybe if we make nice with her, we can call in her family’s help.”

Miss Ashoona scoffed. “We don’t need the help of the Ivalu family.”

“You never know, Miss Ashoona.”

Their elevator deposited them at the parking lot where they trudged toward Zuko’s car, his client drifting behind him. “Your determination is really admirable,” he said. “If I’m honest, more cops could use your dedication. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea from what I said.”

“Then what’s the right idea?”

“That we have to consider all possibilities. And to do that, we have to be as disciplined and clear-headed as possible.”

They arrived at his beat-up car. Zuko opened the passenger door for Miss Ashoona but she hesitated, fixing him over the door with that narrow-eyed stare. “I’m going to trust you,” she replied, “on one condition.”

His eyebrow lifted. “What’s that?”

“Call me Katara.” He caught a flash of her smile as she climbed in, though it crumbled under the weight of tonight’s events. “My brother beat the shit out of you. If that doesn’t qualify us for first-name basis, I don’t know what will.”

Tonight was a disaster, though Miss—no, _Katara_ had managed to get their witness to talk, despite her unconventional methods. And if he’d learned anything on the force, it was that trust was a two-way street. “You got it, as long as you call me Zuko .”

He sneaked glimpses of her smile as they drove off, cutting through the few streets of Republic City that weren’t choked with traffic. He knew the city well, having prowled every alley and shortcut in his beat cop days, so navigating them was second nature. That was a lucky break and a priceless advantage he’d need as he set to peeling back the layers of his client’s anger. 

“I have some questions for you.” 

“I figured you would.” She gazed stoically out the window, though she toyed with the edge of her long braid with feverish motions. “About Aang.”

“I’d appreciate if you’d lend me some clarity.” Anything that stopped a witness from talking was a force that needed reckoning with. “This person’s heavily involved in this investigation now, not to mention that he’s clearly quite a presence in your life. I need you to tell me everything about him you can.”

She went quiet for a long moment, staring out the windshield. “He’s my ex. My very recent ex.”

“How recent?”

She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. “The day after my mother’s funeral. He didn’t come because he didn’t want to distract from the proceedings. That’s what he said, at least. But after what Sokka said, I don’t know what to think.” She was scowling at no one, winding her braid tighter and tighter around her wrist. Zuko knew he had limited time here and his questions had to count, but something fiery and human in him wouldn’t rest until he figured out how to justify skipping a funeral of a loved one.

“I’m having trouble following this guy’s logic,” he said. “Is he inherently distracting?”

“Lately, yes,” she replied. “You probably know him. He’s Councilor Aang Acharya.”

_Acharya._ “The guy preaching peace and love?”

“The very same.”

He could hardly imagine the fireball in his passenger seat running with Councilor Acharya, though he’d learned that opposites could attract very well. Still…

“Do you know why he’d meet up with your mother?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “If I did, I’d have told you by now.”

And with that remark, he knew he’d reached the limit. They drove through the city in silence, Zuko’s mind rushing like a river, until he pulled up to her apartment building. She’d retreated deeply into her mind, the cogs turning over everything they’d learned. When he looked at her to bid her goodnight, he found remorse staring back at him. “I’m sorry for my behavior tonight,” she said. “I was angry.”

He shook his head. “You’ve had a long night, and you still have to process a lot of it. I get it.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“It’s natural.” His voice was firm. Katara was a lot of things, but passion, even wayward passion, was in sparse supply in Republic City. He couldn’t bring himself to call it a bad thing, especially when it looked like her. His next words were dangerous and he knew it, but the hope they would give her outweighed all costs. “In fact, your behavior convinced me that we’re gonna see the end of this investigation. I don’t know what it’ll be, but we’re going to get there.”

“Really?” Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled. “Anyone who stands in your way is a fool. I might be our compass, but you’re the air in our sails.”

Her dark cheeks reddened. “I think that’s praise, but I also think you might be calling me an airhead.”

“That’s not what I meant! I promise, Miss Ashoona—”

She laughed. It sounded like music. “I’m just joking. Besides, I told you to call me Katara.”

Finally, she moved to climb out of the car, flashing him a smile over her shoulder. “Thanks, Zuko. For everything.”

The slow, syrupy sweetness that had wrapped itself around them vanished as the cool night air hit Zuko through the open door. He promised to call her with any updates, and he watched her walk into her apartment building until she disappeared into a stairwell. When he finally drove away, he was smiling.


	4. The Deserters

In exchange for greater freedom of movement private detectives didn’t have the resources of a police department, which meant they had to rely on their network of clients and their friends to get anywhere in an investigation. Zuko, who had played the guard dog of the rich and powerful, had a few well-placed friends of his own.

When one was paid to protect a client’s life with one’s own, one learned their day-to-day very well. That was how Zuko knew that, even years after parting ways, there was one place where Toph Beifong would appear sooner or later: City Hall.

Zuko had planned on lurking in wait near the food trucks that circled City Hall like vultures, but Toph had already amassed quite the following today. Perched on the shoulders of two tall, burly men, she was shouting into a megaphone while holding her other hand in a fist in the air. 

“Republic City demands unions!” she shouted. “Tell ‘em, Republic City!”

The crowd around her shouted out viciously and victoriously, fists rising into the air. Over their cries, Toph demanded, “Companies shouldn’t be able to fire employees for wanting job security! Protect workers and strike down anti-labor legislation! I dare you!”

Zuko grinned as he sat on a bench to nurse his coffee and watch his former charge. However, he only sucked down a quarter of his brew before the demonstration ended much quicker than he thought: RCPD squad cars flooded the streets, and the protesters broke up and fled the scene lightning fast. Toph disappeared from the shoulders of her supporters in the fray, with cops making a beeline for her…

Zuko raced into the crowd, piercing the tide of protesters as he fought his way to Toph. One other cop, the bone-headed thug type, had almost lain his big, meaty hands on her, but Zuko got there just in time. He flung his coffee into the cop’s face, sending him reeling backward into the chaos. Zuko grabbed Toph’s wrist. “Toph, it’s me!”

Toph’s cloudy eyes lit up. “Fancy meeting you here, Hothead!”

“Stay with me.” He pulled her away from the chaotic scene and the encroaching police, running like hell. Toph kept up with him easily, her hand finding his as they cut through a nearby city park to Zuko’s car, parked alongside a pretty lake reflecting the dull sky. Toph found the passenger seat with perfect aim, and soon they were peeling away from the curb and hustling down the road.

“Are people getting away?” asked Toph. “Or are the cops…”

She trailed off. Zuko glanced in the rearview mirror. The RCPD had rounded up about a dozen protesters and were escorting them away in handcuffs, stuffing them into paddy wagons. More importantly, however, was the squad car riding their bumper, lights flashing and sirens blaring. They both knew the cops in this city—they never let a bad guy get away, come hell or high water.

“Buckle up, Toph!”

Zuko put the pedal to the metal, weaving through Republic City traffic and leaving several close shaves along the way. Toph couldn’t see how close he cut some lane changes, but she could hear it in the symphony of car horns and feel the jolting turns. “Take it easy!”

“Doing what I can!” The squad car kept apace, dodging Zuko’s precise evasions. Cops were straight thinkers, so they wouldn’t be fooled by a straight-thinking escape plan. He had to get sloppy. “Hold on.”

He swept across three lanes and hit the freeway, gunning it until the squad car was fell back. They weren’t out of the woods yet, though. They were still in the cop’s sights, and the only thing saving them from arrest for reckless driving was that Zuko hadn’t stayed still enough for a look at the license plate. Toph was clutching the handle of her door as they sped up. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “We’ll be fine.”

In a flash, he got off at the next exit, which wound down a hill and brought them into an intersection. He ran the red light and hooked a hard turn, cutting across traffic and dodging oncoming cars. He gunned the engine again and sped up the entrance ramp to the freeway they just fled, heading back the way they came while the squad car in pursuit was just disappearing off the exit ramp, lights and sirens fading behind them.

Zuko slowed the car to a reasonable speed and blended into ordinary traffic. Toph exhaled beside him, her hand dropping from the door handle. “You know, I thought I missed the old days.”

“You thought?”

“Yeah, and then I relived them.”

He chuckled. “Missed you, too.”

She snorted. “Let’s get something to drink. What did you throw in that guy’s face? Coffee?”

They found a nice little deli to take refuge in while things calmed down. The workers seemed busy, despite having few other patrons in the restaurant, but it afforded a quiet place to catch their breath.

“You didn’t have to pick up the tab,” said Zuko, pulling out Toph’s chair.

Toph snorted. “It’s dirty money!” she said, a little too loudly. “And it’s my parents’ dirty money, no less, that we’re cleaning up by returning it to our local economy. If you think about it, we’re doing my parents a favor.” She was young and already working hard both to protect the workers of her family’s company as well as to avoid following in her parents’ footsteps, but she had a touch of the privileged loudness about her. Always bold, never punished.

She dug into her hoagie with enough messy gusto to turn her mother pale. “What were you doing at the rally, anyway?”

He took a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t much better than the stuff near City Hall, but Toph insisted on drinking it black. “I came to ask a favor,” he said.

“Name it. What’s up, Hothead?”

He knew his former client—and more importantly, he knew his current friend. She’d once been pretty ambivalent on the company her parents ran with, but since breaking away (and ensuring her trust fund was in her care and no one else’s) she was a free woman who was pretty damn keen on rectifying her family’s mistakes. Yes, rectifying them—but not revisiting them.

“Are you able to put me through to Councilor Aang Acharya?”

Zuko was shocked when the first question out of her mouth was, “Is he in trouble?”

Toph had made herself a symbol of the worker, a force to rally alongside. She cared for the workers, of course, but it was a professional, distant care—to care deeply for all of Republic City’s downtrodden and disadvantaged would burn anyone out, no matter how hard they tried. But a politician who had enough money and connections to preserve the status quo? Showing such genuine concern for a politician, of all people, was very unlike her. “Do you know him?”

“I asked first!” she retorted. “So, you answer first.”

_Malleable as a redwood, as always._ “I’m looking into someone,” he said evasively, “and I’m told Acharya was involved in their life. He’s been hard to reach.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I can tell when people are lying.”

“It’s not a lie,” he shot back. “And it’s all I can say. I have to protect my client’s confidentiality.”

“Why don’t you ask your sister? Councilors are usually pretty friendly with cops, aren’t they?”

_Not when one might be a killer._ “She’s busy.”

Her lips pursed for a long moment, and then she finally said, “Whatever trouble he’s mixed up in, he’s not responsible for it.”

“Yeah?” He packed his pride away and followed the scent. “How do you know?”

“Because he’s trying to fix as much trouble as he can.”

Vague, unhelpful, and suspicious. “Same question.”

She sighed in frustration. “You didn’t ask so many questions when my parents hired you.”

“The job was simpler.” Toph was trying to shake him off Acharya’s trail, which was unusual in such a defiant, go-it-alone personality. Just how close were these two? “How do you know he’s fixing trouble?”

She paused for a long moment, her eyes narrowed, and then she leaned across the table and whispered, “Is anyone watching us?”

Zuko was always preparing for the worst-case scenario. It was in a cop’s basic programming to run contingency plans at every moment of every day; he would never risk quitting the habit. “We’re safe.”

She took another deep breath. “Aang was working with me on labor protections. He was trying to keep it quiet, though, because so many in the Council are _under pressure.”_

Not unusual, but definitely interesting. “What kind of pressure?”

“Come on, Zuko.” Her cloudy eyes seemed to pierce right through him. “My parents, for one, and people like them. Not to mention the RCPD itself.”

Some dormant circuit within him flickered to life in him. The police were influencing the City Council? As if! It was nothing more than a vicious lie fed to her by this Acharya, no doubt to cover his own tracks! “The Republic City Police Department governs itself with law and order. Our cops don’t _pressure_ city Councilors!”

“I’m just telling you what I heard.” Each word came out with a sharp edge. “When we were discussing regulating worker protections, he was gung-ho about imposing stricter punishments on cops who broke strikes.”

He frowned. “That doesn’t sound to me like someone being pressured by the police.”

“Yeah, but then he said that was an easier bill to pass. His word exactly: _easier._ He was zeroed in on everything I proposed that involved disciplinary action, especially by the police. But he was being really careful about it. like he was picking and choosing which proposals to support.”

Zuko pushed his drink away. Something acidic writhed in his stomach. “What for? We know how to root out our bad apples in the PD.”

“Just what I heard, Hothead,” she replied coolly.

A distrustful Councilor was a great, big lead for him to follow, especially if he was wrapped up in Katara’s life. And since Acharya was so generous, maybe he left a few more leads for him to pick up. “Do you know any of his other projects?”

“No.” She took a messy bite of her hoagie, tearing the bread with animalistic anger. “I haven’t talked to him for a while. He’s been really busy.”

“With what?”

“Whatever a Councilor would be busy with.” She shrugged. “At least, it’s probably some bill they’re working on. I don’t know, really. We haven’t spoken for about six months.”

Six months. That rung a bell, but he couldn’t identify the sound. “Do you think he’d be open to talking to me?”

“Of course,” she said, “but the trick is finding the opportunity to talk to him. He’s always flitting off to someone else who needs his help. He’s tough to pin down.”

He smirked. “You remember when I had to drag you out of the Rumble with all your fans fighting to keep you in?”

Her brow furrowed. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

Detective Zuko Huo made a living out of tracking down the flightiest, most fanciful runners. “‘Tough to pin down’ is exactly what your parents called you, too.”

Well, the redwood yielded fruit. When Zuko and Toph parted ways, he had in hand the office and phone number of one Councilor Aang Acharya. But as he drove into the sterling, shining government quarter, his lucky streak doubled in the form of a sickly-sweet phone call that had him zipping across the city to the RCPD.

He tried to look inconspicuous when he arrived at his old stomping grounds, but his blending in was tough when half his face looked charred to a crisp. His scar had once been a familiar feature of the precinct, nose-deep in records or helping to persuade tough suspects in the interrogation room, but now it felt like a mark of banishment, a brand that kept him clear of his home base. So, he kept his head down as he swam through the sea of his former compatriots until he found his sister’s corner office, a present from their dear father.

“Nice to see you again, Zuzu,” she said from where she reclined at her desk, feet perched on the edge as she paged through a lengthy file. She snapped it closed and shot him a wry grin. “One autopsy report, analyzing the remains of one Mrs. Kya Ashoona.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I owe you one.”

“It was easy, since I was on the case from the beginning.” 

“You said you weren’t!”

“I was giving you a hard time.” She held it out to him. “I told you Father puts his best on the biggest cases.”

Zuko bit his tongue and reached for the file, but she tugged it just out of his reach. “Come on,” he muttered gruffly. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing keep away?”

“I said I would get the file to you.” The smile she wore was sharp, like it could slit a throat. “I never said I’d hand it over. Not for free, at least.”

His stomach knotted. This wasn’t good. “What do you want?”

Azula dropped the charade, sitting up abruptly with every muscle tensed in anticipation. “The case you were fired for working. Who was it?”

“Damn it, Azula!” He should have known that’s what she’d want. He should’ve seen the trap he was walking into. She really knew how to push buttons, didn’t she? “Can’t you leave well enough alone?”

“I’ve never left well enough alone,” she snickered. She waved the file at him and he made a wild grab, but she yanked it away before he could lay a hand on it. “You think I was going to turn away from such a juicy story? C’mon, Zuzu. You know me better than that.”

Zuko understood Sokka’s keen desire to protect Katara. They had wildly different sisters, but Zuko couldn’t help that instinct woven into the core of his being, the instinct that informed him his sister could never know what he was investigating. But that very sister had no problem using his pain for her pleasure, so a sick, twisted part of his heart stamped out that protective instinct and finally gave Azula the pain she was asking for. 

“Mom. I was looking into Mom’s death.”

That wiped the smarminess clean off her face. She sat back in her chair, eyes wide and hand limp as it smacked onto her desktop. He snatched the file from her and held its safely out of her reach, but she didn’t care about the file anymore.

“Why?” she asked, bewildered. “She was sick. She died naturally. There was no _case_ to pursue!”

“I thought so, too, at first.” He was such a stupid, naïve boy, so easily kept in the dark. “But didn’t it bother you that we knew almost nothing about what was happening to her?”

“We were children, Zuko,” she hissed. “Father was taking care of everything.”

“Exactly.” He turned on his heel and made for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, because we're all social distancing, I'm gonna start uploading chapters on both Mondays and Fridays bc I'm bored to tears. So let me know what you think, and I look forward to reading your reactions!


	5. Zuko and Katara Alone

The next day, Zuko found himself facing down the Republic City Council Building, an old, ornate structure absolutely drenched in symbolism and circumstance. He walked through the gilded doors and was met by the splash of red that emblazoned the opposite entrance. The building itself had four entrances, one for each cardinal direction, and Zuko was fascinated by them as a fifteen-year-old on the mandatory school trip into the Council Building.

_“Look, Azula,” said Zuko, pointing at the eastern entrance. It was gilded with ruby and flame, the stones in the beautiful mosaic sparkling brighter than anything else in the lobby. “That’s Father’s entrance.”_

_Azula folding her arms across her chest. “Father never said he had his own private entrance to this building.”_

_“Well, no, not like that. That’s the side that represents the justice system. The police, mostly. The red stands for their bravery. See, in the mosaic?”_

_“Hmph.” Azula pouted as they patently ignored the droning on of their tour guide. He had nothing to offer the Huo kids—Zuko had spent plenty of time dogging their father’s footsteps in this building, and Azula rarely listened to anyone that wasn’t herself or their father. “What are the other ones?”_

_He pointed to the entrance directly opposite, awash in sapphires and pearls. “That’s the other kind of public servants. Like doctors and stuff, and other people who save lives. That’s why they’re opposite each other: because they’re equals.”_

_“I don’t think so.” Thirteen-year-olds were known for being self-centered, but Zuko was astonished at how much of a diva his sister already was. “No one’s shooting at doctors.”_

_Suddenly, the other students on the trip were gasping and collectively turning towards the northern entrance, whose stained glass windows cast yellow and orange light on Councilor Gyatso, the newest bright star of the City Council who was presently dashing up the stairs to the second floor. Gyatso was often late, according to Father._

_Azula, though, was entranced by the mosaic surrounding his entrance, sunny amber radiating warmth and hope, and she was hardly paying mind to Gyatso. “What’s that about? Zuko, what’s that mean?”_

_Zuko concealed his grin. Azula rarely permitted the indignity of revealing she didn’t know everything, and a certain pride took root in his stomach when she came to him for help. “The north entrance is for the Councilors, who are responsible for protecting the city and fostering balance. And they’re opposite of… ”_

_He took her by the shoulders and spun her around so she could see the southern entrance, which beheld a mural of a mountain village surrounded by a forest. In the center was a village square teeming with life. “The city and its citizens. The Councilors serve the city, and the citizens honor the Councilors.”_

_“Huh.” The tour group migrated away, but brother and sister remained in the center of the Council Building. Azula was spinning slowly in place, taking in each of the displays. It was the first time he’d ever seen her so unguarded, her dismissive façade falling away in the face of beauty._

_“You know, Zuko,” she said, “I think I like it here.”_

This many years later, the building seemed cold and lifeless, holding the disinterested leaders of a once-fair city. Councilors were shut up in their offices, quietly chugging away at the next piece of paper they would argue over for months before would ultimately changing nothing. Zuko found the door marked 112, right where Toph said it would be, and raised his fist to knock. “Go away!” the voice shouted. “Aang and—the Councilor and I are speaking!”

Zuko knocked harder. The voice was muffled, sure, but he would recognize that passion anywhere. “Let me in, Katara!”

Two second later, the door was flung open, and a flushed Katara stood there, her fist trembling at her side. “What are you doing here?” 

“My job,” he replied quietly. Behind her was the blustery bald punk he’d seen on television who’d whipped the Council into a frenzy, and who was playing a significant part in this investigation. 

He should have seen this coming. Katara had too much fight in her to just wait around for her detective to get information, especially when she had a connection to their prime suspect. Would she ever let him do his job?

To her credit, she met his fiery glare with a stony look of her own, a monolith around which the elements broke instead of the other way around. When she made it very plain that he would lose this staring contest, Zuko turned his focus to his other quarry. “Pardon the intrusion, Councilor,” he said. “I suspect Miss Ashoona was speaking to you about the same thing I wanted to today.”

Councilor Acharya lacked the most essential tool in a politician’s arsenal: a poker face. Zuko could tell whatever conversation he’d interrupted had rocked Acharya’s foundation: his childish brown eyes were watering, and his shoulders were hunched to accommodate his head’s tendency to hang low. Outside of this room, that would have meant this was a politician to be trusted, since he couldn’t hope to lie. Now it meant that Zuko was in for the fight of his life, because Katara was going to make this interrogation that much harder.

Acharya gestured listlessly to the spindly chairs that sat before his cluttered desk. “Please, come in,” he said. “Heading out, Katara?”

“No.” Katara moved aside and allowed Zuko in. “This concerns me, too.”

“Fine.” They took their seats. Acharya’s brow furrowed as he very obviously tried to assess his new visitor. He wore his heart on his sleeve—Zuko didn’t need to know how to read people to see how much Acharya didn’t like him. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Didn’t give it. My name is Zuko Huo, sir—”

“Huo?” Acharya stilled in his seat. “As in, Police Chief Huo?”

“My father, sir. I was formerly with the RCPD, but I work privately now.”

Acharya’s eyes narrowed. His folded hands perched on his knee. “Why are you here?”

“I had some questions for you.” Zuko glanced out of the corner of his eye at Katara, who had her own steady bead on Acharya. If she felt reservations, she sure as hell didn’t show it. “We learned that Katara’s mother, Kya Ashoona, was with you very close to the time of her passing.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. When he opened them, he said, “Her death is a terrible wound, Detective. I don’t know what I could tell you about it. Grief muddles the mind.”

Katara let out a sharp laugh that was painful to hear, as though she’d pulled a knife from her chest to turn it on someone else. “Grief? I have a hard time believing you felt anything, Aang, especially when you didn’t show up for the funeral!”

Acharya’s face fell. “I wanted to be there,” he said, his voice soft. “But I didn’t want to distract—”

“Is that what’s more important?” Katara’s fists curled at her side, her knuckles turning white. “I don’t know about you, but I’d risk causing a scene if it meant helping the ones I love!”

He recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “I didn’t think I’d be welcome.”

Silence filled the room, and neither of them could look at each other. Zuko was suddenly grateful for the scar that consumed half of his face. The charred flesh was stiff and unmoving, but it came in handy for the moments he needed a neutral mask. If he gave any inclination that he was taking sides on this minefield, he’d be either a threat or fired.

Tears were welling in Katara’s eyes when she looked at Zuko again; the look lasted half a heartbeat, and then she was staring at her lap, anger splintering the air around her. Acharya was watching her, absolutely heartbroken and completely and utterly vulnerable. In these terrible circumstances, the opportunity had arrived for Zuko to begin his interrogation.

He cleared his throat. “Councilor, ll I want is to find the truth, so Katara and her family can find peace.”

Acharya pulled himself together. “I want that too, Detective, but…”

He looked at Katara. “Katara, this won’t be pleasant for you to hear.”

A muscle started jumping in her jaw. Her fists clenched. “Why does no one think I can handle it?”

“I know you can handle it,” he said, his voice gentle, “but I don’t want to hurt you.”

She opened her mouth, but Zuko beat her to the punch. “My investigation has been a long road of people not telling us things, often out of a misguided desire to protect my client,” he said, noticing the way Acharya’s body relaxed at the word _client_. “I’ve worked for Miss Ashoona for a few days, but I already know that sidestepping doesn’t work on her.”

He felt her eyes on him again, and a rush of—gallantry, was it? Damn. He had almost forgotten the feeling. “Nor does being delicate work on _me_.”

“It’s kindness, not sidestepping,” Acharya retorted.

“Kindness would be telling me what I need to know!” Katara spat.

Like it or not, Zuko had found how to make Acharya talk. “Pardon me, Councilor,” he said, turning to Katara. “Miss Ashoona, may I speak to you privately?”

“Certainly,” she said, every syllable dripping with poison as she rose and marched toward the door, head held high.

Acharya shot to his feet. “Please, why don’t you remain here? I can step out.”

Step out and abscond with his testimony—or worse, evidence? “That’s all right,” said Zuko. “We won’t be long.”

Zuko swept out of the office and found her waiting for him, glaring at him like she was paid to. Lucky him, he was about to make it worse. “Katara, you need to leave.”

She had definitely seen this coming if her quick and mighty response was anything to judge by. “Absolutely not. After how hard Sokka tried to keep the truth from us, I’m not letting anyone, especially him nor you, push me out of this! I deserve to know!”

“I’m not saying you don’t deserve it,” he said quickly, “or that it’s right, but that’s the rule of the game. Acharya isn’t going to tell us anything with you sitting right there. I’m sorry, Katara, but if we’re going to get him to cooperate, I have to go in alone.”

Her fists balled up at her side so tightly that they shook, but she said nothing. Her bottom lip also had the slightest tremble to it. Zuko’s heart sank to his toes.  
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, whispering this time. “This is a sacrifice we have to make.”

“Don’t talk to me about sacrifice when you’re not the one making it.” 

She rubbed her eyes and tried to compose herself, but that tremble in her lip didn’t quite go away. “I’ll meet you at your office, Detective. I want to hear every word he says—verbatim.” 

He nodded. “Verbatim. Ask my uncle for a cup of tea on me.”

But she was already marching down the hallway and out of sight. So Zuko braced himself, turned around, and threw himself back into battle with Aang Acharya.  
Acharya was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, tense as a coiled spring. He snapped to attention when Zuko sat down before him once again, jaw set and his face guarded. He’d toughened up in those few moments Katara was gone. Maybe getting her out wasn’t the end of Zuko’s difficulties.

“My client’s gone home,” he explained, “so you and I are at liberty to speak.”

Acharya nodded, his head bobbing only an inch. “I imagine you’ll report all this to her, though.”

This guy didn’t miss a damn beat. Unfortunately for him, neither did Zuko. “I did not go to the trouble of sending her home for you to be anything but direct with me. I will use discretion, Councilor. You can be sure of that. But I’m sure that whatever you’re hiding is vital to my investigation, and I’m not leaving until I have it.”

Acharya swallowed. “You sound like your father.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” He took a deep breath in through his nose, and then out through his mouth. He was somber and cool, and so very decisive. He was all together a very different Councilor than when Katara was in the room. “Very well. The reason I was with Kya the day she died was because she asked to meet about something we were both working on.”

Zuko leaned forward in his seat. “What was that?”

Katara returned to the offices of Huo Investigations with a cooled temper and remorse in her gut. The detective had their best interests at heart, she knew. How often was she going to lose her temper in front of him? He knew she was grieving, which was probably why he hadn’t strongly reprimanded her until tonight. And even then, as she turned his words over on her way here, they weren’t as cruel as they felt at the time, only strong enough to break through her front and get her to listen.

Equally as strong was her need to see this through. She had to know what happened to her mother, and that meant dogging the detective’s every footstep. Tonight had shown her just how vital he was to finding the truth; if he hadn’t crashed the meeting, then she would never know what really happened. He was a lantern that threw light on the correct path: all she had to do was mind her footing and she would find that truth, come hell or high water.

So, minding herself was the name of the game now. She had to be reserved to be informed. But to sit on the sidelines was so contrary to her nature, so _not Katara_ , that even in this best of cases, it felt repulsive to consider. She knew there were certainly worse trade-offs to be made, and much worse sides to stay by, to be sure. So why was this so unthinkable?

Iroh had given her jasmine tea on the house and the spare key to his nephew’s office (in return, she stuffed the tip jar full while his back was turned). He must’ve seen how unsteady she was, though he never mentioned it. Truth be told, it was nice to have a place to collect herself. This little office, cozy in its lack of square footage, was the perfect place for her to ruminate. That is, until ruminating got boring and she spotted the file lying on Zuko’s desk. Swallowing her guilt, she glanced at the door and then leaned forward until she could read the label: _Autopsy Report: Kya Ashoona._

Her heart quickened, and her guilt vanished from the pit of her stomach. She was entitled to this information as next of kin, and reading it from an impersonal report allowed her to react in her own way in private without having to compose herself in public. And, well, this wasn’t getting in Zuko’s way, was it? So, she snatched the file from the desk, opened it, and began to read.

“We were investigating the deaths of my fellow Councilors,” said Acharya, voice low enough for Zuko to lean in further. “Katara and I were a couple long before they began, so Kya knew she could trust me when she began looking into them.”

Kya Ashoona had had a partner in crime, so to speak, and it was the very councilor her daughter fell in love with. “Tell me how this partnership worked.”

“I would provide her access to the building, police records, anything she needed. I’d do my best to put her in touch with anyone she wanted to interview as well, on the stipulation that she was safe when she did so. Either I sent along a bodyguard, or she would conduct the interview in a public place.”

“What did you learn?”

He sank into his chair and closed his eyes. In a resigned voice, he said, “She was careful not to share too many details with me, knowing I could become a target if I knew too much. I fear that may have been Mrs. Ashoona’s fate.”

It wasn’t just a possibility. It was a _certainty_ that Katara’s mother met her terrible end because of the Councilor Murders. She must have learned something that pointed clearly to the identity of the killer, and it must have been recent if they waited this long to strike. “Do you know of any recent breaks in the case? Any new detail she had come across?”

He shook his head solemnly. “I’m sorry, Detective,” he said. “After the third death, she was more determined than ever to keep me safe. She stopped informing me and refused my help. I’m afraid I know very little of her recent movements. Well…”

Acharya gulped, his eyes darting around the room. He was starting to waffle , and Zuko was working very, very hard not to look excited. This was what he’d come here for! “Did she tell you something when you met the day she died?”

Acharya nodded, and then something terrible happened: life came back into his eyes, and he squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw. “This information could put you and Katara in more danger.”

“I’m no stranger to risk.” Zuko’s offense rallied, and he pushed forward with the help of a dirty trick. “Councilor, are you willing to help Katara in any way she needs?”

His answer was immediate. “Of course.”

“Then I need you to tell me everything Mrs. Ashoona asked for.”

“I will, on one condition.” Acharya’s eyes flashed. “Katara can’t participate in the investigation. I won’t let her fall into the crossfire, and I won’t give you the opportunity to push her there. Do I make myself clear?”

Katara avoided looking at the illustrations as she skimmed. She’d drawn these before and given plenty of peri-mortem details to medical examiners, precious information observed in the back of an ambulance that might give peace of mind to a patient’s family, but this was so different. After training herself to remain distant from her patients, Katara found it more difficult than she thought to see her mother described so impersonally, reduced to organs and systems and treated like a puzzle to be put back together.

She cheated and went straight to the summary at the end, where medical examiners displayed the barest grain of humanity.

_The most significant finding of this autopsy was the presence of the substance YonRha in the decedent’s system. With the lack of an injection site on the body, the neurotoxin appears to have been ingested. It is unclear at what time YonRha entered her system, but the dosage was a lethal quantity, triggering a myocardial infarction._

The report slipped from Katara’s fingers and fluttered to the floor while she numbly slid back into her chair.

Zuko returned to his office with a heavy heart and a stomach filled with lead. In one afternoon, the case was wider than it had ever been, and this already bumpy road was about to crumble under his wheels. 

He fumbled for his keys to his door, too focused on stringing the right words together to notice that his door was already open a crack. His hand grasped for the knob, but the door was ripped open the rest of the way and revealed Katara standing there. She was paler than when she left him—how did she end up in his office?—and she opened her mouth, looking truly helpless for the first time.

“My mother’s death is related to the Councilor Murders!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're making some progress and learning more about Katara's mother's death! As always, let me know what you think--questions, theories, anything!


	6. The Beginning of Two Lovers

He stared at Katara for a long moment until he returned to his senses. 

“In here.” He shepherded her inside and locked the door behind them. _“I_ know about your mother’s connection to the Councilor Murders. My question is how do _you_ know that?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “What? How do _you_ know that?”

“Acharya said as much to me.” His eyes slid to the floor, where he saw Mrs. Ashoona’s autopsy report lying scattered. He picked up the pages and tried to rearrange them back into the file, as though that could somehow preserve the sanctity of their contents. When he looked up again, a guilty flush was growing in Katara’s cheeks. “I saw it here, and I just couldn’t stop myself from reading. But I recognized the poison they used. I was there when Councilor Gyatso died!”

Councilor Gyatso—he recognized that name, and so did most of Republic City. He was the third Councilor to die mysteriously in six months, and Katara was there at the moment of his death? How tangled was this web? “Explain. Why didn’t you tell me this before?” 

“I didn’t realize it was related until now,” she replied, remarkably without attitude. She was all frenzy and vigilance, duty and urgency. “I was in the ambulance Aang called for him when he passed. They ran a post-mortem tox screen that showed YonRha in his system!”

Acharya’s account and an identical modus operandi made two strong positive links, but one thing leaped out at Zuko like a great, big smoking gun. “He was present when Gyatso was killed?”

The weight of her words hit Katara suddenly. Her nose scrunched up while her mind went into overdrive, trying to force the puzzle pieces together the way she wanted. “It wasn’t just him, Zuko. It was at the Founders’ Day Ball. A lot of people were there, including Councilors.”

“I’ve been in the past.” The RCPD were honored guests at Founders’ Day events, but he’d skipped this year’s after his fall from grace. 

The edge of her long braid was in her hand, and she was furiously toying with it as she motored on. “Anyway, Aang just happened to be the person to call the ambulance.”

“That’s it!” Zuko felt that flash in his chest as things began to fall into place. He knew bells were ringing, but he hadn’t been paying attention to the right ones until now! “When did Gyatso die?”

Whiplashed from the change in subject, she replied uncertainly, “I think about six months ago.”

“Six months!” That was little Miss Beifong’s estimate, verbatim! “A little birdie told me that Acharya’s been busy for six months, likely with something that concerns a new policy. That timeline adds up a little too well, Katara. Whatever he was working on, Gyatso’s death must have triggered it.”

She frowned uncertainly, folding her arms. “Listen, Zuko _Really_ listen. Aang couldn’t have been responsible. Gyatso was his mentor, and his friend, too. But even if you don’t consider that, just isn’t in Aang’s nature.”

He’d heard a lot of shocked family members say they couldn’t believe the evil their son, cousin, mother was capable of. Most people had a blind spot for their loved ones, and Katara was no different. Still, that was a strong defense coming from someone who’d so clearly illustrated her disdain for the councilor an hour ago. 

“I’ll be frank with you,” said Zuko. “Thinking about motive isn’t going to help us right now, and neither is asking ourselves if some of our suspects are capable of murder.” He sat against the edge of his desk. “We still don’t know a lot of the facts. Right now, our priority is learning more about the moving parts of your mother’s death, and for that, figuring out this YonRha poisoning is our clearest lead.”

She sat down, toying with the end of her braid as she thought. “I figured as much. I thought the drug was all but nonexistent by now, though. I only remembered seeing it in Gyatso’s report because it was so unusual.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Zuko explained, ever a faithful student of his father’s methods. “About ten years ago, the PD cracked down hard on YonRha entering the city. It was distilled and sold as a hallucinogenic at first, but it was a tough brew to get right. When less experienced people tried their hand at dealing it, they ended up making it extremely lethal even in the smallest of doses. It racked up one hell of a death toll in a matter of months, so it got illegalized and confiscated.” He scratched his chin. “Maybe someone’s brewing it incorrectly on purpose and slipping it into Councilors’ tea.”

Katara went to the window and gazed outside at the cloudy afternoon sky. “We have to track down how this drug reached the city. If we can find who bought it—”

“We can find who used it.” He tucked away a proud smile. He couldn’t help but admire her sharpness and enjoy the feeling of someone keeping up with him so well.

She sighed. “So maybe you were right,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently.

Despite making the search for truth his career, Zuko didn’t often hear his clients admit he’d found it. “About what?”

“About asking Yue’s family for help.” Irritation flashed across her face, but only for a moment. “They have their claws all over the underworld. If we can make nice with her again, I bet they could point us toward whoever’s responsible for bringing YonRha back into the city.”

Despite all they’d learned, he felt a rush of hope. Maybe they’d be just fine. “I was thinking the same thing. You catch on quick, Miss Ashoona.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, the smallest of smiles on her face. “Thanks, Zuko. I try.”

“You’re good at it.” Warmth pooled in his chest. “Especially under these circumstances. You’re holding up under pressure better than half the cops in the city. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“That’s kind of you.” She turned to him, arms folded and eyes trained on her feet. “Especially when I lose my temper every other place we go. I’m sorry about that, Detective. Really. I know I should be following your playbook, but it’s just so infuriating when no one tells us anything.”

“Don’t be sorry.” How could anyone hold her bereavement against her? “Caring means you’re human. This city could use a few more people like that.”

Her head tilted. “You really think Republic City’s that cold?”

He shrugged. “I saw plenty of coldness while on the force. Well, not coldness, but toughness . Our perps are scared when we get our hands on them and so they clam up and refuse to cooperate. They won’t let anyone in—and as a result, they become a little less human.”

“I disagree.”

Their eyes met. For the first time, Zuko saw the full force of her passion turned on him, and yet she spoke so quietly and tenderly. That was the most in awe of her he’d ever been. “I’ve seen a lot, too, Zuko. I’ve seen people at their lowest reach out for help, and a lot of people who answered their call. I know it’s different than being a cop, but I’ve seen a lot of humanity when it counts.”

Zuko thought of Toph, who took her parents’ blood money and turned it into a force for good. He thought of Kya Ashoona, who kept her investigation secret to spare Acharya’s life. And then he thought of himself, and how his father had kicked him out of the force because Zuko couldn’t keep his own grief, his own _humanity,_ in check.

And he still couldn’t keep his heart in check. “I’d really like to see the city through your eyes sometime, Miss Ashoona.”

That small smile of hers returned and began to grow, through it didn’t reach its full potential. “I wouldn’t mind that.” 

She turned that narrow-eyed gaze on him again, like she was reading his mind and divining his heart; if she figured out what he thought of her, she didn’t let it slip and merely said, “Maybe I’m being forward, but I think you could benefit from that. I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”

_I could never mind you._ “My clients are rarely honest with me. I need more people like you.”

“I have a tendency of being forward.” She walked towards him slowly, prowling like a panther. He straightened up, his chest puffing out of its own accord. She added, “Someday I might even admit to liking it.”

“I like it, too.”

“Being forward?”

_“You_ being forward.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Didn’t imagine you liking someone else calling the shots.”

“So, you’ve taken the time to imagine me.”

“Maybe I have.”

“Didn’t take a detective to figure that out.”

“So, you’re reading me loud and clear, huh?”

“Loud and clear.”

She kissed him. Yes, it was her who kissed him, who grasped his shirt and pulled him down to meet her, though it was his hands that found her face and his heart pounding against his ribs, aching to beat alongside hers. Katara Ashoona was a force of nature, and he found himself in the glorious eye of the beautiful storm.

She pulled away first, too. The dreamy vapor they’d descended into lifted around her, and Katara gasped and threw herself backward as though she’d been electrocuted. “I’m so sorry!”

Zuko’s mind was sent reeling. “No, don’t be—”

“I should never have—”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s not!” She turned away from him, arms clutching at herself so tightly that she started to crumple where she stood. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. You’re _working for me!_ That was so, so wrong.”

“That wasn’t wrong.” And if he was worth his training, he’d know what was. 

He moved towards her and offered his hand. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, and I mean that. I’m flattered. I liked it. But I’m your detective first and foremost, and I swear I will close this case if it’s the last thing I do. And if you want, we can forget this—” he gestured between them, “ever happened.”

She sniffled and wiped her eyes which flickered between his face and the floor as she turned, staring at his hand like it were a golden idol. This was the first time he saw how truly vulnerable and wounded she was, how raw the grief and stress had left her. She hid her sadness behind her anger, but now she’d turned her anger in on herself and it was eating her alive. 

“I like you, Zuko. I do.” She shook her head, brushing his hand ever so lightly. “But I just can’t do this right now.”

She was a bright star in the dark night, and the first good thing to come into his life in a while. “Then I’ll wait. If you’ll have me, I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“I’m very grateful,” she said, as her index finger hooked around his. “But we don’t know how long we’ll be investigating. This case could drag for years for all we know.”

“I’m a man of my word. I’ll wait until we close this case, or however long you need or want.”

“Thank you.” At long last, she was smiling again. It was small and dim, but it was a signal that they were getting somewhere. A long road stretched ahead of him but if Katara was at his side, then they may very well fly to the end. She was caught up in her own windstorm, so he’d have to be confident enough for the both of them.

Her hand found the charred side of his face, caressing his taut cheek with her thumb. “I really couldn’t help the, uh, the feelings. You’re the only one who believed me when I said Mom was killed, and everyone else is hell-bent on keeping the truth from me. You’re the only person who hasn’t tried to shoo me away from this.” 

Zuko thought back to the deal Councilor Acharya proposed.

_“I need you to tell me everything Mrs. Ashoona asked for.”_

_“I will, on one condition.” Acharya’s eyes flashed. “Katara can’t participate in the investigation. I won’t let her fall into the crossfire, and I won’t give you the opportunity to push her there. Do I make myself clear?”_

_“Very clear.” He knew he could piece together Kya’s investigation in no time with the information Acharya could provide. He could fill in the gaps, wrap this investigation, and bring swift justice in a day._

_Zuko stood. “Thank you for your time, Councilor. Goodbye.”_

_“Wait!” Acharya shot to his feet. “You’re refusing my help?”_

_“I’m refusing your stipulation.” No wonder Katara had come to Zuko for help; she was closed in on all sides by people who thought they knew what was best for her. Nothing maddened a caged animal like people insisting the cage was the best place for them to be. “My client won’t stand for being relegated to the sidelines. My investigation is unyielding enough on its own, and the last thing that’ll help Mrs. Ashoona is fighting her daughter every step of the way.”_

_“Involving Katara is going to hurt her!” Acharya retorted, his fists clenching on his desk. “You’re letting her waltz into danger!”_

_“I’ll protect her with my life, Councilor, but this is the choice she’s made, for better or for worse.” As he strode out the door, head held high, he added, “We don’t need your scraps.”_

Katara Ashoona was a force of nature. Yes, investigating with her at his heels was a challenge, but there was no keeping her from finding justice, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at that determination with anything but admiration.

Besides, he loved chasing challenges.

Katara collected herself and gave him a string of apologies again (none of which he could accept in good conscience). “So, the Ivalu family,” she said, her voice still a little rocky. “I’m sure we can speak to my brother tonight.”

“How about tomorrow night?” Neither of them was in any state to investigate; she was unsteady and he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. What could they learn if they were each occupying the other’s mind?

“Tomorrow night, then.” She nodded decisively. “My brother will be home. I can work up a believable apology by then.” 

He chuckled. “Think you can try shooting for sincerity?”

“You ask too much of me, Detective.”

She went to the door, which Zuko opened for her. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“It’s okay, I can drive myself.” She sent him that smile again, tired and relieved and a little bit hopeful. “Thank you, Zuko. For everything.”

“Of course.”


	7. The Chase

“Stop looking smug, Uncle.”

“I’m not smug.” Uncle Iroh smiled at him over the tea he was preparing, but Zuko knew that look in his eye. That knowing gleam and that itch to learn more were mighty, but he was biding his time until Zuko would be a little more generous with details. “Can’t I be happy for my own nephew?”

“There’s not much to celebrate.” There was a lot to parse out, despite having come away with a smile on his face and kiss on his lips. “I’m not sure how much there’ll be in the future.”

Iroh sighed patiently as he sat beside Zuko, unwinding after a long day of making tea by making more tea . Zuko never understood the logic but he couldn’t deny its effectiveness. “You worry too much about the future. You should really learn to enjoy the present, nephew.”

The present may very well be all he had. “It’s complicated.”

A mug of jasmine tea glided towards him. “Perhaps you should talk about it.”

Zuko knew well that he wasn’t supposed to break his client’s confidentiality. It could damage the case, not to mention his client’s trust in him, but his uncle was a fountain of wisdom which had come in handy for plenty of his capers. Unofficially, of course—Iroh would never suffer recognition. So Zuko put down his cell phone, picked up the mug, and took a long, restorative drink. No one brewed like Uncle Iroh.

“She wants me to wait,” he explained, “before we pursue anything between us. She wants to close the case first.”

“She sounds sensible.”

“Yeah. Problem is, I don’t see any way this case shakes out where she’s happy.”

Iroh frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“The first possibility is that this case remains unsolved. This conspiracy, I guess is what it is, is a lot bigger than either of us thought it would get. There are a lot of powerful players here. And the longer this takes, the longer she’s stuck in grief.”

“She won’t be bereaved forever.” His uncle shook his head. “We both know how grief works. We learn to forget the feeling of the poison so we may not be paralyzed.”

Zuko’s gaze lowered into his tea. “It takes some longer than others. And her mother died hardly a week ago, Uncle. She’s so deeply hurt by it that she’s willing to do anything to find the killer, but I can’t even guarantee that that ending will come. She’s in a terrible place, and she can’t stay there for long.”

Iroh frowned, his finger tracing the rim of his mug. “The grief will be there whether you solve the case or not, Zuko,” he replied after a thoughtful pause. “It may well be that her grief consumes her when all is said and done. A dedicated friend at her side can soften its bite.”

“That’s the other thing.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t think she’s gonna like what she finds when this case closes, _if_ it closes. Someone in her circle is suddenly a person of high interest, and she can’t stop herself from defending his innocence.”

Iroh stroked his chin. Zuko could see him paging through his years of wisdom, looking for past experiences to compare to this one and enlighten the path before them. It took him longer than usual, which wasn’t a good sign, but it came as an odd comfort all the same. This case was just as knotty for Iroh as it was for him; at least someone else was struggling with it, too.

Finally, Iroh said, “People clearly show their character when they’re grieving. What is your client like?”

_Passionate, determined, empathetic and conflicted._ “She wants to see the best in her loved ones.”

“Which isn’t an ideal approach to talking to suspects, I’m guessing.”

Zuko shook his head. “But this person of interest is grieving, too.”

“Well, how’s he acting?”

_Flighty, defensive, and willing to leverage his office to control the investigation._ “Highly suspicious.”

“Hmm.” Iroh lapsed into silence again. As he thought, Zuko turned over his own observations. Acharya seemed keen to help find Kya’s killer but only if it kept Katara out of the investigation. Was that the act of a spurned man trying to protect his love? It seemed too bizarre a play for the guilty party to make. But he’s still connected to that murder through the work he and Kya were doing, so what would he be trying to hide?

Iroh’s voice broke through his thoughts like a river clearing away debris. “Do you believe he is being sincere?”

Despite Acharya’s sensitive position, he couldn’t lie to Katara to save his life; he meant what he said about missing Kya’s funeral. “I do.”

“That’s quite the puzzle.” He leaned back in his chair. “He believes he’s acting in the right.”

“Everyone does. That’s the problem.” Zuko raked his hand through his hair. “Everyone thinks they’re right. But if people could sort out right from wrong on their own, I guess I’d be out of a job.”

“Easy, Zuko.” Iroh’s words were slow, his voice contemplative. “None of us are perfect judges.”

“I used to be a cop,” he snapped. “I know better than most.” 

“We all think we do.” Iroh took a long swig and fixed his nephew with that knowing look. “So, with regard to that young woman, wait for her to understand the right thing. And be a friend to her—it’s what she needs, and it’s the right thing to do.”

“All right, all right.” He heaved a sigh, slumping in his chair. “Whatever happens between us, it’s a long time coming. Our next order of business is talking to—well, I’ve told you enough.”

Iroh rolled his eyes. “Dangle the carrot a little lower, why don’t you?”

Zuko smirked. “I’ll tell you they’re not nice people. We’ll be lucky to win their trust back.”

“Back? You met these people before?”

“Briefly.” He stood, rubbing a crick in his neck. “I have to go back to work, Uncle. Research.”

“On these people?” His brow furrowed. “Will you be all right?”

“I’ll be just fine. I always am.”

“Still, if all you’re doing is research…” He nodded towards the window, which was cracked open to let in a cool breeze. “You’ve been gone all hours of the day. Perhaps a catnap would do you good.”

He shook his head. He knew Katara couldn’t be resting like they’d agreed she would. She just wasn’t designed to pump the brakes. And as much as he admired that, he knew the thing that would keep them safe was staying one step ahead of her. If they were going to barrel forward, they might as well know what lay ahead.

“You’re smiling.” Once again, his uncle’s voice cut through like a sunbeam on a cloudy day. “You’re smiling at nothing.”

“And you’re smiling, too,” said Zuko, unable to wipe his smirk off his face.

“Yes, but I can admit what I’m smiling at. I’m happy for you.” That infernal, knowing glint in his eye was also laughing at Zuko, who felt heat rising in his cheeks. Blushing at this age?

Zuko ducked out, leaving his snickering uncle behind as his blush grew.

“What is _wrong_ with me?”

Katara lay on the beaten-up couch in her beaten-up apartment and stared at the water damage in the ceiling. Her behavior with Detective Huo was awful—so awful that she instinctively rescinded first-name basis with him—and here she was, a bundle of regret and nerves that her roommate seemed intent on dissecting.

“C’mon. Sit up and drink your lemon water.” A hand holding a glass of water appeared before Katara. Her roommate Suki’s face hovered above it, one perfectly manicured eyebrow arching in concern. When Katara didn’t move, she wiggled the glass a little, the ice cubes clinking against the sides. “Or would you prefer to drop and give me 20?”

She didn’t have the heart to roll her eyes as she sat up and accepted the glass. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Suki sat across from her in an overstuffed armchair they rescued from a thrift store. Suki indulged in lemon water and makeup on her days off, neither of which had a place in a fire department. “Do you have anywhere to be today?”

Katara shook her head. Suki continued, “Good. We have a lot to unpack.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about why you seem so determined to think that making out with a private detective is a bad thing.”

“We didn’t make out! It was just a kiss. Not that that makes it any better,” she said with a groan. “I can’t believe I did that. What was I thinking?”

Suki’s fingers drummed on the arm of the chair. “I’m gonna tell you exactly what you told me, okay? Just so you can hear yourself.”

Katara opened her mouth, but Suki plowed on. “You hire a detective who, by your own admission, is very attractive. This detective brings you along while he investigates, probably against his better judgement, because you want to be there. And then you kiss him, he says he likes it and wants more, but that he’s willing to wait however long you need. Stop me when I say something you did wrong.”

“I kissed him, Suki! I kissed a guy I’m paying to look into my mother’s death. I’m sure Freud’s got something to say about that, on top of the ethical nightmare.” 

She shrugged. “Good thing Freud was wrong about almost everything.”

Katara shot her a look. “How do you know?”

Suki flexed her bicep. Her muscled arm, like the rest of her, looked like it was carved by a Renaissance master, but Suki couldn’t flex her way out of that particular quandary. “Same question, Suki.” 

“I listen to a lot of audiobooks at the gym, which is where I honed these bad boys.” She lowered her arm. “The point still stands. It’s not like you’re his day-to-day boss. Kissing him would’ve been a problem only if he didn’t like it. But he did, so you’re good.”

“No, I’m not. It still feels wrong.” She was starting to see the light, and the siren call of Zuko’s kisses, with those soft lips that were eager but pliant, was hard to resist. “I’m too emotional. This whole week has been—it’s been so much.”

“I know.” The smirk had disappeared from Suki’s voice, replaced with genuine concern. “One helluva week, definitely. I know you’re not interested in sorries and sympathies anymore, but cut yourself some slack, okay? You’re on bereavement leave for just that.”

“Fair.” Katara knew she had a tendency to go, go, go. It’s what made her a good EMT, but terrible at taking it easy. “But I have to do this, Suki, and you know exactly why. I can’t just sit around and wait for justice to come because it won’t.”

“Of course, you can’t, but can’t you see how never taking a moment to breathe has brought you here? You kissed a guy you think is hot and now you’re in a moral crisis. You wouldn’t have done this last week.”

“I wouldn’t have kissed anyone last week! Aang and I split so recently. Maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s a rebound thing.”

Suki heaved a patient sigh. “I’d like to remind the jury that _you_ broke up with _Aang.”_

“And I can’t be emotional about that?”

“I’m saying that if you were on a rebound, you’d be more sad than angry, I think.” Suki curled up in the chair, thoughtfully toying with her straw. “I know that from having known you for a while now. And it’s because of that that I know your dazzling detective isn’t what you’re really upset about.”

That sparked something in Katara, a fiery impulse that propelled her off the couch and into the kitchen. Somewhere else she could take refuge. “Why shouldn’t it be? It’s the last thing I need.”

She could hear Suki’s sigh as she followed her into the kitchen, hopping up on the limited counter space. She shot Katara a knowing smirk and said, “You’re not gonna run away from this, Kat.”

“I’m not running from anything,” she said, opening the fridge and focusing deeply on the stack of Styrofoam takeout containers staring back at her.

Suki was undeterred. “Listen, this detective is the first good thing you’ve had after a long string of bad things. Bluntly speaking, you have a lot to be upset about, but I don’t think he’s the ticket.”

Katara paused. That was the root of the problem, she realized. But she’d been so entrenched in the problem itself that she couldn’t figure it out. “It’s so much. It’s too much for me.”

She heard the sound of feet hitting the floor and then felt Suki’s strong arms wrap around her. “I know, Kat. I’m so sorry. But he was ready and willing to wait, and that’s a really, really good thing.”

“No, it’s not.” Katara pushed her off and shut the fridge door, leaning her forehead against it. “It’s just not. It doesn’t feel good. What am I doing, kissing him when my mother is dead and it’s on us to find her killer? And all this bullshit with Aang hanging over us, too! It’s like—”

Katara’s eyes widened. She spun around so quickly that Suki jumped in surprise. “It’s because I don’t want to be distracted. That’s it. That’s it! You’re right—I’ve been so focused on solving her murder and trying to navigate things with Aang that doing something that _isn’t_ a burden feels like I’m losing focus.”

Suki’s face lit up. “It sounds like you don’t need me to tell you this, but you’re entitled to lose focus.”

“Yeah! But now that I know that’s the issue, I can fix it!” She let out a laugh and clapped her hands. “But it’s okay, because Zuko’s going to wait as long as I need. And you weren’t there, Suki, but I saw the look in his eyes. He’s not going anywhere.”

She threw her arms around her, beaming. “Thanks so much for your help! I needed that.”

Suki chuckled, hugging her back. “You did all the heavy lifting. So, will you at least take the rest of the day to rest? Can we agree on that?”

“No can do.” Katara pulled back. “I have to talk to Aang.”

“What?” The smile slipped from her face. Katara couldn’t help but be a little proud; it was tough to baffle Suki. “Why?”

“We have an investigation to conduct,” she said, “and nothing, not even heartache, is going to stop me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We took a break from the case to explore what's going on in our sleuths' heads. Stay tuned next week for reconnecting with our suspects, asking for help, and a breakthrough or two!


	8. Bitter Work

Yue Ivalu leaned in her open doorway, clad in a white silk dressing gown which did little to conceal the gun-shaped lump in her pocket. The glare she leveled felt even more lethal than a bullet. “I was surprised to get your call, Detective.”

“Sokka put me through.” He flashed her what he hoped was a charming smile, though charm was never one of his strong suits. “I’ve come to apologize on behalf of Miss Ashoona.”

She pursed her lips. “You have, haven’t you.” They both knew no one would risk facing the Ivalus after wronging them—that is, unless they had something else you wanted. But Yue must have seen an opportunity in collecting on Zuko someday, because she moved aside and allowed him in.

She shut the door behind him and grasped his shoulder, roughly persuading him to take a seat on her tantalizingly soft couch. “Cut the bull,” she said as she sat in a throne-like armchair, crossing one long leg over the other, “and make it quick.”

“Make what quick?”

“Telling me what you want.”

Might as well start out with honesty. “I like your style. Direct.”

She rolled her eyes. “What did I just say?”

When Katara finally reached the park’s walking path, she found Aang pensively gazing into a koi pond, watching two fish swim circles around one another. Maybe she had overdone it a little, keeping her hair down the way she knew he liked, but she was pulling out all the stops today. Aang knew something about her mother’s death, and she was going to pry it out of him.

“Aang?”

His head snapped up and a wide smile spread across his face, taking in her appearance from head to toe. It seemed he barely restrained himself from bounding over to her like an overeager golden retriever. One thing Katara had admired about Aang was how deeply devoted he could be. She had admired it, sure, and then she had grown to resent it.

“Hi,” he said as he drew up to her side. “It’s good to see you. I’m so glad I still _can_ see you.”

She packed away her grimace. He was always so eager to move on, never to contemplate the consequences. But that eagerness to trust would go a long way in today’s mission. “Yeah. I’m sorry about everything that happened the other day.”

“So am I.” His smile softened. “I didn’t mean for things to get so heated. I guess we’re both too hardheaded for our own good, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” They weren’t. “Can we start over? Just walk like we used to?”

“I’d love that.”

They set off together in the park, walking by other couples and families that were making the most of the beginning of fall, when the light grew colder but not yet unpleasant. Katara watched them pass by as if she were in a bubble—the laughter of children playing seemed dulled and muffled. 

Aang bounced along beside her in his fiction of the good old days, and hands held tightly behind his back. “How are you doing?” he asked. “With everything going on. Between your mother and this investigation, you have to be worn pretty thin.”

She stared down the path. “I’m doing all right. It is what it is.”

It could be a lot easier if she didn’t need to keep this charade, but it is what it is. “What about you? Things can’t have been easy after Gyatso.”

He sighed quietly. “It hasn’t been. But I think things are starting to look up.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” He straightened it up, and his smile returned. “I think the Council’s got some good stuff cooking.”

“Don’t leave a girl waiting,” She nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Tell me.”

He shook his head. “You know how this works,” he replied. “I can’t spill City Council secrets.”

“C’mon, Aang.” She threaded her arm through his. She knew he felt that spark light up his chest, because she did, too. The thrill hadn’t died yet for them, and neither had the comfort. Some residual admiration lived in the barbs of their failed relationship.

When she and Aang were good together, they were _great_ together. They both had big hearts and strong wills, and they were committed to helping Republic City become the best it could be. It was an uphill battle, but one she would be glad to fight day after day. Aang fought it in his own way: secretive and lonely. 

Their eyes met again, and his cheeks reddened just a little. She noticed she was having that effect on people lately. “I know I could use something to look forward to,” she said with a theatrical little sigh. “I would really appreciate it after everything that’s happened.”

He sighed again, shaking his head. “This is dangerous. More dangerous than you know and probably more dangerous than I could predict.”

_I can protect myself!_ she wanted to scream, but she had learned well from Zuko. Stubbornness didn’t get them cooperation; playing along did. “Then don’t you think I should know about it, so I know what to avoid?”

Her hand squeezed his arm. This felt ugly, this manipulation of her ex’s affections. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t good. But what else could she do when the one thing holding him back from telling her everything was that love for her? What did she do when the only way to get him to open up was to give him what he wanted? 

The ugliness didn’t fade away completely, but it did shrink back when Aang’s resolve broke down. “All right. But this has to stay under wraps, got it? I’m serious.”

She drew an X over her heart. “You have my word.”

A chilly breeze blew by them, the herald of autumn. She shoved her hands into her pockets while Aang zipped up his coat. “We’ve been working on something in the Council for a while. We had to keep it pretty secret because that’s the only way it would get anywhere.”

“What is it?”

“We’re working on the formal title,” he explained, “but for now, we’re calling it the Background Bill. And it’s going to change how things are run in Republic City.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds ambitious.”

“Definitely.” He had that proud, serene look in his eyes, the look she had come to admire so well. It was the look that meant business. “But specifically, we’re cracking down on the people who run this city.”

“How?”

He shot her a look that told her he oughtn’t answer, but she had exploited Aang’s weakness and now he couldn’t stop himself. “Stricter background checks on public servants.”

Katara frowned. “Shouldn’t that have been done a while ago?”

“You’re right,” he said, “which is why we’re not grandfathering anyone in. Everyone in the city in a government position will be checked.”

“Whoa.” She stopped in her tracks. That was going to make a lot of people with a lot of power very angry. “Everyone?”

“Everyone. Cops, EMTs, state attorneys—even Councilors.”

“Damn. No wonder you’ve been stressed.”

He frowned. “What?”

But she was picking up a scent now, and a line of questioning presented itself to her. Maybe she learned more from Zuko than she thought. “How long have you been working on this?”

“About six months,” he replied, “but we slowed down after Gyatso passed. Are you okay?”

Was this what it a breakthrough felt like? 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she muttered, mind racing. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” 

Aang sensed it, too, and was quickly coming to the realization that he oughtn't have told her anything. “This is why we had to keep it secret. It's too dangerous for just anyone to know.”

“I have to go.” 

“Katara!” He grabbed her arm. “Promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

She effortlessly threw off his grip and knocked him off his feet. Her father had told her her self-defense training would come in handy, but she didn't think it would help her expose government corruption! Before Aang realized what had happened, she was already running, running, running away to blow the whistle and bring it all down. He called out her name, but she didn't dare slow down.

Once she rounded a bend in the road and Aang was out of sight, she pulled out her phone and stopped the recording she’d taken of their conversation. She saved it carefully to her phone, to the cloud, to Sokka’s phone through their messaging app just in case. She couldn’t wait to hear what her darling detective thought of _that._

As a matter of fact, she was going to talk to him a lot sooner than she anticipated. When she arrived at the entrance of the park, his car was waiting at a red light, which turned out to be her own green light.

“Zuko!” she cried out, running across the road. He snapped to attention and leaned over, pushing open the passenger side door just in time for her to throw herself inside amid a wave of car horns rising in her wake. She was unable to help the grin on her face, and she noticed Zuko seemed to be fighting a smile of his own as he asked, “What the hell was that?”

“A great coincidence,” she replied. “I found something out. Something _big.”_

He shot her a look. “I thought we agreed you were going to take it easy for the rest of the day.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you know me?”

“I guess I do. Buckle up.” The light turned green, and the car pulled out smoothly. “Forgive me for hoping you’d let me do my job, Miss Ashoona.”

“Well, I figured that of the two of us, only one had a chance of getting through to Aang.” She waved her phone. “And I made good on it.”

That proud smile won the fight and it sat upon his face like a sunbeam, though he wouldn’t dare look in her direction. “You’re something else.”

“I like to think so.”

“All right, don’t keep me in suspense. Whatcha got, gumshoe?”

Pride blossomed in her own chest. “Well, I’ll play the recording for you later, but the gist was that Aang has secretly been working on something he called the Background Bill, which is going to impose stricter background checks on public servants. They were keeping it tightly under wraps before going public, and I think that’s because they needed to ensure they had enough support to pass it. But get this: according to Aang, Councilor Gyatso was leading the effort to create this law. And I’ll bet anything that the other two Councilors who died were secretly involved with this bill, too!”

The smile on Zuko’s face was gone. His knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel. “Zuko?”

All of a sudden he hung a sharp U-turn, cutting across three lanes of traffic and sending them back into the heart of the city. “Where are we going?”

“Public servants,” he repeated. “The bill affects _all_ public servants?”

She nodded. “That’s what he said.”

“I’ve been working, too, Katara,” he said, “and I also managed the impossible. I got Yue Ivalu to forgive us.”

Her jaw dropped. “Really?”

“On the condition that you lose a fight to your brother to restore his rep, but it was a deal I had to make.”

“Forget that—just tell me what you learned!”

“The Ivalus have connections to the underground drug market,” he began. “I asked if Yue knew of any YonRha dealers that recently made it big. She told me that the leader of the YonRha drug ring was hard up. The name Hama ring a bell?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, apparently the Ivalus helped Hama out of a bind recently. Her operation went up in smoke but thanks to Yue’s father, Hama didn’t go to prison. Her stock of YonRha was seized by the police, though, and it’s currently sitting in an evidence locker. Take a wild guess when this happened.”

She gasped. “Six months ago?”

He nodded. “According to the _Republic City Herald,_ Hama was arrested two weeks before the first of the Councilor Murders.”

_This_ was what a breakthrough felt like. It wasn’t a rush of joy or the feeling of a job well done. It was dread building in your stomach until it threatened to consume you. “Looks like we found our public servants, then.”

A muscle jumped in Zuko’s jaw. “Any cop would have access to that evidence. Let’s root out a bad apple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload, everyone! I hope the chapter made up for the delay at least a little. Tell me what you think!


	9. The Puppetmaster

Zuko was livid, Zuko was righteously angry, and Zuko was _speeding._ He was tearing through crowded city streets on his way to the RCPD like an angel on a mission with Katara at his side, clutching the door handle like her life depended on it. “I’m an excellent driver,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” And yet her hand uncurled from the handle, so that was one good thing he had going for him. He could feel her eyes on him again when she added, “I’m worried about how personally you’re taking this.”

Oh, _he_ was taking it personally? Not like she’d been doing that the entirety of this case! “I told you I used to be a cop. Our culprit’s one of my own.”

“Are you surprised?”

He looked at her for only a moment, but that moment felt far longer than it should have. She stared resolutely back at him until he looked back to the road, and then some. “What are you talking about?” 

“Come on, Zuko. It’s no secret that the police like closing cases _fast_. And some of the ways they close them?” A shudder ran down her spine. “They scare me.”

His heart pounded, but for an entirely different reason. “Are you scared of me, Katara?”

She paused for a moment, and then said, “No. Sorry. I shook my head.”

A dry chuckle slipped out of him, like a leak in a beach ball. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” But her voice was quieter. “I’m not scared of you, Zuko. Earlier today, when we—while we were in your office, you were really sweet and patient with me. You’re a different breed of cop.”

“The police have to do what they have to do,” he said, though he felt dread coiling in his stomach again. He’d repeated those words often while he was on duty, the ring getting hollower and hollower every time he said it. _They have to do what they have to do,_ he said, carting a father off to the precinct for trying to make ends meet. _They have to do what they have to do,_ he said while breaking a strike without discrimination or care. _They have to do what they have to do,_ he said to a jury, defending his partner after a 911 call gone wrong.

Did the cop who killed Katara’s mother have to do it? Did he have to keep his badge so badly and his past so buried that killing her and a handful of Councilors was a fair price?

He thought of Toph, whose disciples scattered at the first sign of the police. He thought of the Rumble, which existed with the permission of police who got their rocks off at the thought of violence. He thought of his own father firing him for investigating his mother’s death. Narrow objectives, extreme methods, disastrous consequences.

Katara’s voice cut through his reverie. “Exactly, which is why I don’t think storming the police station is the best plan. Not if we wanna walk out of there.”

“We’re not storming the station,” he replied with a snicker. Did she think he was an idiot? “I have one connection left there, and through her, we can figure out who had access to the evidence.”

“That’s got to be some kind of illegal!” said Katara. “Even just accessing classified information, especially if it’s something the cops don’t want getting out!”

“Don’t worry. If we’re caught, I’ll take the blame.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Everything has to be kosher if we want a conviction to stick, right? I don’t want something like ill-gotten evidence getting my mother’s murderer off the hook.” 

“Don’t worry,” he repeated. “I can just say I’m looking for the wallet my dear sister took by mistake. That’ll keep it all above board.”

“Sister.” He could hear her frown in her silence, until she added, “I hope you’re right.” 

The Republic City Police Department loomed ahead of them, a red brick building with big white columns guarding the door, as austere as a Roman emperor. Zuko circled around the block until they found a parking spot and then they both leaped out of the car and strode to the front, preparing themselves for battle.

He didn’t notice Katara slipped her hand into his until they reached the door.

“Figured this made sense,” she said, eyes dancing about as Zuko guided her towards his sister’s office. “A brother and his girlfriend. Raises fewer eyebrows.”

Maybe it did, and maybe it set his heart aflutter, but he needed to unpack that later. He pulled Katara through the bullpen, his feet finding the familiar paths worn by busy officers on the hunt for criminals. As usual, people stared at his scar, but he found himself much less bothered by it now when so much more was on the line. Who among them was their killer?

Azula had gotten a private office on the second floor, courtesy of the forces of favoritism, with a big picture window and seclusion from the rest of the precinct. It was a nice treat for Father’s best little lieutenant, and it would keep them far from earshot while Zuko and Katara made their play. Her door was closed when they arrived, and his knocking didn’t earn a response. He jiggled the knob and found it locked, so he resorted to the next best thing. 

As Katara clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp, Zuko shoved his shoulder into the door and forced it open., and then he tugged her inside. Azula was nowhere to be found, which meant he could get a little snooping done on his own.

“Where is she?” he snapped, at no one in particular. Of all the times she had to disappear, she had to pick now? They didn’t have time to wait around, so he whipped out his phone and called her. Suddenly, something started rattling inside one of the drawers in her desk. So now she was leaving her phone when she was working a case? She knew better than that!

He yanked open the drawer and rifled through, unearthing a file, a notebook, and candy wrappers until he found her phone clattering around in there, his name lighting up her screen. “Dammit, Azula, what is wrong with you?”

He snatched up her phone and slid it into his pocket when he caught sight of Katara at his side. Slowly, as if entranced, she reached out for the notebook he’d cast carelessly onto the desktop, which had a blue velvet cover decorated with elegant swirls. She flipped it open, running her fingertips over the loopy handwriting on the pages as if it were braille. There were tears in her big, blue eyes.

“Katara?” he murmured. “What is it?”

“This is it,” she whispered back, as if in prayer. “This is Mom’s notebook.”

_This_ was Kya Ashoona’s notebook? The information that had felled Katara’s mother and the Councilors before her was sitting right in front of them? “What the hell is it doing here?”

“You’re smarter than that, Zuzu.”

He whirled around and found Azula standing in the doorway, her gun trained squarely on Katara. 

She effortlessly kicked the door shut behind her, trapping the three of them in the lion’s den. Her eyes were colder than usual and sharper, too. “But not smart enough. You should have stayed away from this.”

Katara’s grip on her mother’s notebook was iron-like, and her gaze on Zuko’s sister was steel. And her words were absolutely fearless. “It was you. You killed my mother.”

“I took no pleasure in it.” Azula shrugged. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Katara gave a start, but Zuko’s hand clamped on her arm. His world was collapsing beneath his feet. “Azula, what the _fuck?”_

She ignored him and extended a beckoning hand. “Miss Ashoona, is it? Please hand over that notebook.”

Katara clutched the notebook to her chest. “Over my dead body.”

“If you insist.” Azula cocked the gun.

“Stop!” Zuko threw himself between them, staring down the barrel of Azula’s police-issued handgun. “You’re covering for someone. You have to be. You’re the one that put me on this case!”

She gave him the look of the long-suffering parent, like he was struggling to grasp simple mathematics. “You want me to say it? Fine. I underestimated you. I thought you would track the investigation back to Acharya and that would be that. You couldn’t ask for a better culprit.”

“You set up Aang as a patsy?” Katara said, coming back to Zuko’s side, undaunted by the gun. These were the answers she’d been circling. He should have known she wasn’t going to let her own mortality get in their way. She shouldn’t have come with him! “Why? All because of the Background Bill?”

“Of course it’s about the bill!” Azula rolled her eyes. “You really know how to pick ‘em, Zuzu.”

Zuko hardly heard her. His world was falling to pieces. His sister, a murderer—and her victim, the mother of his very own client. It was all right in front of him. All of it! And he’d been so blind to all of this—so blind that, now that the pieces were falling into place, it made all too much sense. What a poor excuse for a detective he was!

“You had access to the evidence,” he murmured, “and you could slip it out whenever you want, because no one questions the police, especially not if they’re a Huo.”

She nodded. “Now you’re getting it.”

He was. He should have gotten it much, much earlier. “You would have had contact with the Council, too. Arranging meetings with Councilors is par for the course, even one-on-ones. You did it all without rousing the slightest suspicion.”

“And my mother,” said Katara, her voice as hard as steel. “Why did you kill my mother?”

“She knew too much, but she knew she knew too much and conducted her investigation very quietly. I wouldn’t have known without a stroke of luck. I killed her because she was dangerous to us. You should take that as a compliment.” 

“What are you talking about, ‘a stroke of luck’?” Katara spat.

“Well, I wouldn’t have known she was digging into the Councilor Murders if she hadn’t reached out to _me_ to ask questions.” She shook her head, the corner of her mouth creeping upward. “Of all the cops in the city, and she landed in the palm of my hand.” 

Now she was smiling openly, sickeningly, confidently. “Kudos to you for figuring it out, the both of you—and so quickly, too! The Councilor Murders went unsolved for months, but you two figured this out in a matter of days.”

That dreadful lump was back in Zuko’s stomach, wrapping around his heavy heart. His sister was a lot of things, but a murderer? A murderer with multiple homicides trailing behind her?

“Who was your mole, then?” he choked out. “How did you learn about the Background Bill?”

“From a friend of mine that Gyatso shouldn’t have trusted,” she replied. Azula’s confident smirk fell finally, and her face grew dark with malice. “It had to be done. That bill would have cleaned out the entire police force.”

“And what of it?” he retorted. “We shouldn’t have violent people protecting our citizens!”

“This is what it looks like to protect our citizens!” Azula threw her arms out, gesturing, it seemed, to the entire precinct. “Preserving order, protecting the last bastion of hope against chaos at all costs! Emptying our precinct is leaving our people defenseless!”

“Or in a better place than they were!” Katara shot back. “If not a single cop can pass a background check, then burn it all to the ground!”

“Shut up!” Azula’s hand tightened on the gun. “Hand over that notebook. _Now._ It’ll be easier if you do it quietly.”

“So you can kill us?” Zuko replied. “We both know you won’t let us live. Not after you admitted everything to us.”

“She’s surrounded by cops,” said Katara. “You’ll never get away with this. All we have to do is scream.”

Azula rolled her eyes. “Let me tell you a secret, Miss Ashoona. Our father is the chief of the Republic City Police, and every cop in this building is very keen on keeping their jobs.” Azula cocked the gun and leveled it at Katara. “I assure you that whatever happens in this room will be in my favor.”

Zuko whipped out his sister’s phone and flung it against the far wall where it shattered upon impact. The noise drew Azula’s attention for a split second, which was just enough time for Zuko to grab Katara’s hand and yank her out of the office. They fled down the stairs and through the bullpen, weaving around officers in case Azula got trigger-happy with that gun. Though even privately, Zuko was wondering if it would even matter, or if she’d be happy to sacrifice others in her beloved police department along the way. So much of Azula that he had never seen—or, maybe, he’d just willingly ignored—was being forced into the light.

“Stop them!” Azula shouted from on high. “They’re getting away with evidence!”

A brave rookie in freshly pressed blues stood before them, fists up and knees knocking together. Zuko didn’t relish watching Katara deliver a hard jab to his chin, but he didn’t stay to pick the poor kid up from the ground. Not when they had every cop in the city hot on their heels.

They burst through the precinct doors and threw themselves into Zuko’s car which peeled away from the curb and raced down the street. Cops flooded out after them, eager to fetch their prize.

“Tell me you have the notebook!” he said to Katara, not risking a glance at her as flashing lights filled his rearview mirror. But she was silent, unnervingly so _“Katara!”_

“I have it!” she yelled. “Don’t worry, I brought it. Where are we going? What’s the plan?”

The plan. There wasn’t a plan here beyond drive and survive. They had their bargaining chip, sure, but they also had the entirety of the RCPD on their tail and nowhere to go, and soon the city would be swarming with cops who would love nothing more than to bury them with their smoking gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun!!!!


	10. The Day of Daughter and Son

Zuko ran a red light, avoiding an oncoming car by the skin of his teeth. The might of the RCPD roared behind them, following in pursuit of the blue velvet notebook that sat in Katara’s lap. She was watching out the rear window, torn between giving him a play-by-play and watching silently in abject shock. The gears in Zuko’s mind were churning at breakneck speed while he tried to cobble together some sort of plan, something that would get him and Katara out of this alive. Even that was a tall order though with Azula on their heels. When Azula Huo had a scent, she refused to drop it.

A police cruiser screeched to a stop at the upcoming intersection, blocking their route forward. Zuko banked hard, flinging Katara hard against the car door. “Ow!”

“Sorry!” he said as they sped into a side street, tearing through the cluttered alley while the police hurried to regroup. “Sit down and buckle up.”

“Roger.” Her voice was calm, but her hands were trembling as she found the seatbelt. “We’re being chased. We’re being chased, and we’ll probably be arrested if that sister of yours doesn’t kill us first!”

“I’m working on it.” They burst out of the other end of the side street, packed with civilian cars and more cruisers appearing at their rear. Zuko wove between the traffic with surgical precision but the road was quickly narrowing, crushing in from all sides. He needed a direction, a destination, a place where they could get the word out! But they hadn’t a friend in the world who would hear them out.

Well, they had one.

“Does Acharya work late?” Zuko asked, cutting across two lanes of traffic.

“What?”

“Is Acharya working late tonight?”

“I don’t know, probably!” 

“Good.” He put the pedal to the metal in the middle of rush hour, breaking out of the rubberneck and setting a course for the Council Building. “Let’s pay him a visit.”

He pushed his car to the absolute limit, navigating cleanly around the traffic and leaving the cruisers in the dust. They only had a few minutes before the streets were cleared and roadblocks were set up, which would grind their escape to a halt. But if the police figured out they were headed to the Council Building, they were done, too. His sister would get the evidence and destroy it, and the killings would likely land on his and Katara’s heads. They had to act fast.

“Turn here, quick!” yelled Katara, pointing at an exit off the freeway. Without hesitation, Zuko swerved and took the exit, careening down the curving ramp. “Go north until Hawk Street, and then go right!”

“Where are we going, Katara?”

“The parking lot for the public defenders’ offices,” she replied. “It’s across the street from the Council Building. There’s an underground tunnel that connects the two for escorting defendants safely. I used it to visit Aang when the Council Building lot was packed.”

Despite everything, he smiled. “Where would I be without you?”

He followed her directions until the Council Building came into view. As they approached the public defender office building, he said, “I need you to trust me, Katara.”

Her response was immediate. “Of course, I trust you.”

“Even if I tell you something you don’t want to hear?”

She paused, and then nodded. “Yes.”

“All right.”

They pulled into the parking lot, the Council Building looming up ahead of them. He parked right before the entrance of the building and then turned to Katara. “I need you to give me the notebook, and then I need you to run.”

Zuko bolted through the underground tunnel, frantic footsteps echoing off the linoleum floor, notebook gripped tightly in his hand. Even from here he could hear the piercing wails of the sirens drawing closer and closer, so loud that he wondered if they were racing through the street above his head. Better hurry, then.

He emerged somewhere in the basement in the eastern wing of the building; he climbed every stairwell he came across until he made it to the ground floor, and then took one more up to the second. As he ran past a window overlooking the street, he noticed Katara standing on the Council Building steps, hands held up in surrender. Cruisers had gathered and cops were pouring out, fixing their guns on her. He gulped and ran on.

He found the private office wing and then a familiar hallway, which he tore down in pursuit of Acharya. As long as he was working late, he could hand over the notebook, spell the whole thing out, and save him and Katara, and then it would be all over. They could prove that there was still a shred of justice in this city.

Zuko turned the corner and found Acharya’s office door, identical to every other office door he passed. He was able to recognize it because Acharya was standing right outside of it. So was his sister Azula, pressing the barrel of her handgun against his temple.

Acharya was very, very still in her arms, wide eyes flickering between his keeper and Zuko. Zuko’s stomach dropped as all their escape plans splintered into smithereens. How did she get here so quickly? Holding Acharya hostage—a brilliant move on her part! She knew where he would go, what he would do, all of it. 

Azula’s blood-red grin spread across her face. “Hand over the notebook.”

“Don’t do this, Azula,” he pleaded. “You can still walk out of this.”

“I know.” She flicked a stray hair out of her eyes. “I’ll walk out of here even if I shoot both of you dead. Father will smooth things over, and the Background Bill will stop in its tracks.”

The time had come for their last, desperate play. “Maybe,” said Zuko, “except you made one fatal mistake.”

“I don’t make mistakes!” She cocked the gun, her hand shaking. One tremble in her finger and Acharya was dead as a doornail. “Hand over the notebook!”

“All right.” He knelt, pulled the notebook from his inside jacket pocket, and slid it across the floor. It hit the toe of her boot, and as he stood, she shoved Acharya away from her. He stumbled across the hallway towards Zuko, who grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him behind himself. Azula had what she wanted, yes, but this wasn’t over. Not while there were witnesses.

She gazed at the notebook, the symbol of her guilt, like a mother doting on her infant. “Thank you, Zuko,” she said, leveling her gun at him again, “but you shouldn’t have given up your leverage.”

“What makes you think I did?”

Her brow furrowed, and her mouth twisted into a sick frown. “What are you talking about?”

“If you think about it,” he began, “that notebook means nothing. Since we couldn’t prove you had it in your office, it was much more incriminating if the police found it in my possession. But now that a Councilor can testify that you held him at gunpoint—”

“Shut up!” Her hand trembled even harder. “This proves nothing. Who will they believe, a star cop or a disgraced one? Not that you’ll have a chance to talk!”

Her finger curled around the trigger, but Zuko said, “If you kill me now, you’ll never know what mistake you made.”

She froze. Even her hand stopped trembling. Azula was a lot of things but she refused to be anything less than perfect. In her sick way, she would have thought resisting the urge to kill her brother was her greatest challenge. “Fine. What was my mistake?”

He waited. He waited one long moment that felt like years, straining for the signal that wasn’t coming. Where was it? It should be time now!

Azula noticed. “You know I’m not patient, dear brother.”

He felt Acharya’s hand on the back of his arm, and the quietest whisper in his ear. “What’s happening?”

“As soon as they come,” whispered Zuko, “run to them.”

And then he heard it. Voices and marching footsteps echoing off the walls and drawing close. Azula’s eyes widened as she looked around in fear, as though armies would come bursting out of the walls. “What are they doing here?”

“A cop is capable of a lot of things,” he said, “but what they can’t do is ignore a recorded confession of murder in broad daylight, with witnesses, on the steps of the Council Building.”

_“You’re brilliant, Zuko.” The car was filled with heavy quiet, having just borne witness to the confession Zuko had secretly taped. “I would never think of it.”_

_“I learned the trick from you,” he replied. “This is be enough to put her away, so what you’re going to do is meet the police at the front of the Council Building—”_

_“Surrender and hand this over.” She nodded definitively. “But you should be with me.”_

_He shook his head. “Azula must have read your mother’s notes by now and she’d know that we’re heading for Acharya. I need to be there to head her off.”_

_Like always, Katara was stubborn. “Then I should go with you.”_

_“Absolutely not.”_

_“But she’s your sister!”_

_“Exactly. I know her, and I know she’s much more dangerous than an entire PD on high alert.” He held his hand out, waiting for the notebook. “I trusted you enough to let you investigate side by side with me. All I ask is that you trust me.”_

_“You know I trust you. It’s your sister I don’t trust!” She grabbed his hand. “I won’t let her kill anyone else.”_

_“I know you won’t.” His face softened as he looked into her eyes. Determined, vulnerable, and afraid all at once. “I’m not letting you into my sister’s path. Trust me when I say that the way to stop her is to turn that recording over to the police.”_

_She sighed and then handed over the notebook. “Be quick. I’m an excellent runner.”_

Azula had gone red in the face, gritting her teeth. “You recorded me?!”

“It was easy,” he replied, “because you underestimate everyone. You thought Katara was an idiot. You thought I would point at Acharya as the culprit because it was the easy option. You’re smart, Azula, but you’re not smarter than everyone else just because Father says so.”

Police officers flooded each end of the hallway, weapons aimed squarely on Azula. Acharya hesitated, but with a swift nudge to his ribs, he turned and ran toward them, yelling out, “She’s held us at gunpoint and threatened us!”

Zuko chanced a look over his shoulder and was grateful for it, because he saw Katara waiting with the police behind him, hands on her hips, confident smile on her face. Now they both knew everything was going to be okay. It was going to be all right. 

He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and he felt like the luckiest guy in the city.

“Detective Huo, hands up!” called a voice from the other end. But Azula was never one to follow orders, and if her gun was the last vestige of her power, then he’d have to coax her into giving it up.

“Come on,” he said, inching towards her. “Just give me the gun, okay? I’ll make sure everything will be fine. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

She shook her head, that tremble returning. She knew that, while Father would do everything to help her, there were some graves he couldn’t dig her out of. “I know what happens next.” That blood-red grin spread across her face again, but her eyes were unhinged, her polish cracked. “This wasn’t your fault. No, it was that Ashoona witch!”

She looked somewhere past Zuko, drawing a bead on Katara. “This is your fault!”

“No!”

Zuko leaped in front of Katara, and straight into the path of the bullet tearing towards her.

His being shattered. He crumpled to the ground as shouts erupted around him, Azula’s screams rising above them all. Police were rushing towards her and crowding around him, blocking out the tan walls, the fluorescent lighting, the light…

Katara’s face appeared right above him, those big blue eyes determined and watery while her hands pressed against his wound, sending pain shooting through him. His body winced, and he let out a pained grunt.

“I know.” Those words in Katara’s quaking voice managed cut through the pounding heartbeat in his ears. “I know it hurts, but we’re going to get you to the hospital, okay? Stay with me, Zuko.”

“Azula,” he choked out, his breathing coming out in sharp rasps. He tried to sit up and look for his sister—what had happened to her? “Where’s Azula?”

“Azula’s fine,” Katara said, keeping him down. “Stay still and don’t struggle. Help is on the way.”

“Katara.” With the last of his strength, he reached up and brushed her wrist, his fingers hooking around hers. Something sticky coated their hands. “We did it.”

“What?” she asked, baffled.

“Justice. We got it.” He smiled up at her. “Wish it wasn’t so close to home. Look pretty stupid, don’t I?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Justice isn’t worth this.” 

“Don’t cry.” The last of his strength failed and he let out a long breath, his hand falling limp to the ground. With the last ounce of consciousness, he murmured, “Be happy, Katara. Everything’s all right.”

Maybe his body was granting him mercy, but as he drifted off, he could have sworn he heard Katara cry out, _“No!”_


	11. The Final Player

Sometime later, three miracles occurred in a hospital room in Republic City General.

The first was that Zuko awoke. His chest felt splintered and raw, aching with each shallow breath. It was like he was made of glass, and any wrong move would shatter him to pieces. Or maybe he’d already been shattered, and he was just a collection of glass shards arranged in bed. Whatever he was, he certainly didn’t feel whole. 

His eyes opened and he was met with a painful flash of bright light. He closed them again, bright spots dancing in the darkness, while he took incrementally deeper breaths. His throat was a desert, dried by the oxygen being piped down his gullet. He reached up to bat at the unfamiliar apparatus sitting on his nose, lifting one weak hand in an uncoordinated bid for freedom.

“Easy, son.”

Zuko looked up into the warm amber eyes of the second miracle: Ozai Huo was sitting here, doting at his son’s sickbed. Notoriously distant and cold, he had come to make sure Zuko was okay. A thought crossed Zuko’s mind: _I should have gotten shot much earlier._

“Father?” he croaked.

“Don’t speak yet. Let me get you water.” Ozai stood and left the room, coming back a moment later with a cup of water. He slipped his hand under Zuko’s head and brought the cup to his lips. “Go slowly.”

When he was finished, Ozai wiped his son’s mouth with a paper towel from the adjoining bathroom. “You’ve been out the past two days, but I think that’s made you only more popular. The nurses say you’ve had plenty of visitors—even a Councilor.

A breath escaped Zuko. People had come to see him. He knew Iroh would, but Acharya? And what about the others? Toph, Sokka, Katara?

“Wish I’d been awake to say hi,” he said with a frown. “Where’s Uncle Iroh? I thought he’d be here.”

A shadow flickered over Ozai’s face. “He’s gone home to get some rest. He hadn’t been home since you arrived for surgery.”

Zuko nodded. He’d have to give his uncle a call once this was all over; he would have wanted to be here for him to wake up. But he had friends now, which was more than he could say before he went under.

Ozai returned to his chair at Zuko’s bedside, perching his folded hands on his knee. “You gave me quite a scare. I never thought Azula would be capable of such a thing, but I’m glad you had the strength to pull through her violent act.”

_Did you?_ “She didn’t mean to shoot me,” he said, his voice still raspy. “I think she was aiming for my friend. I can’t remember much.”

“Your friend. Was that the young woman who was in here before?” A fond smile crossed his face. “She’s quite the force of nature.” 

His heart warmed. After everything they learned, he shouldn’t be surprised that Katara would put his own father through his paces to see him, even at a time like this. Always caring, always smart. “She’d make a great detective. Couldn’t have solved this without her.”

“Perhaps when you’re well again, I can hear the whole story from you.” He gave Zuko a proud smile, the kind of smile constantly bestowed upon Azula but so rarely upon him. “I’m glad to hear private investigative work has suited so you well. You’ve changed this city for the better, son.”

Anger long calcified in his chest started to break from its prison. A lot of people had lied to him lately, but one person has lied to him his entire life and he wasn’t going to take it one second longer. He was done with deception; participating in it any longer might kill him. “I bet I could change it even more, though.”

“Oh, really?” said Ozai, eyes narrowing. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m thinking that all this happened because Azula didn’t want the Background Bill to become law. She wanted to preserve sanctity of the police department, or however her sickened mind would think of it .”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Ozai glanced out the window at the sunny sky. “Who’s to say what she really wanted?”

“That’s just it. It doesn’t make sense. Azula’s a great cop.”

“She is.”

“Yeah. So great that she has a _perfect record.”_

Those amber eyes met Zuko’s, beady and poisonous. Fear flashed through Zuko, but he charged on ahead. “Why would anyone with a perfect record be scared of a background check?”

Ozai laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in his face. “She’s not as saintly as you believe.”

“She’s nothing like a saint, but you were still scrubbing any trace of her wrongdoing.”

“Your sister was clearly unhinged. Perhaps this was her way of looking out for her fellows.”

“We both know Azula, Father,” he retorted, “and we know that it’s not like she’s ever had the interests of the people—or _any_ people other than herself—at heart. She murdered the Councilors and Kya Ashoona for the same reason she became a cop!” _The same reason_ I _became a cop._

Ozai’s head tilted, his voice dangerously playful. “And what reason is that, Zuko?”

“You.”

Ozai stiffened in his chair, stoic and unyielding. Zuko continued, “You could hide a lot from me, Father, but I’m a good detective and a great learner.” And some of Katara’s passion burned in his heart; he refused to let this slide, like he’d let so much slide in the past! Zuko was once a passionate defender of justice in Republic City; it was time he set his sights on his father. 

Ozai’s voice came out dripping in poison. “And what have you learned?”

“That I was the lucky one. Because you fired me and forced me to fend for myself, I got out of your bubble of influence and finally realized how crooked our city was all because of the RCPD. I realized how much Republic City was ruled by fear, and how much of that fear we sowed. And I realized that Azula would never question an order from you after a lifetime of doting on her, and that after your ascendancy to police chief, _you_ probably have a few skeletons in your own closet. So, if you hear about this bill—probably from a spy within the Council—then the obvious course of action is setting your obedient, perfectionist daughter to the task of murdering that opposition!”

Ozai was perfectly still in his seat, his eyes cold. “Very well, Zuko,” he said. “What do you intend to do with this harebrained hypothesis? Because I’m sure I can persuade you to stay silent.” That smile returned, but it was chilling and sharp. “Would you like to rejoin your brothers and sisters? Become one of the most honorable detectives in this city? We could use your honesty in our forces.”

His wounded heart ached for that detective shield again. He could feel the brush of metal on his fingertips, the pride in his step as he walked with it pinned to his belt, the honorable task of protecting the innocent. It was so close, and so tantalizing.

But too many had died for such impulses.

“No.” Ozai’s poker face shattered. “I’m not going to be bribed back into the PD, not when it’s already rife with crime and cruelty!”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ozai stood, drawing himself up to his full height. His face was dark, and he was rolling up the cuffs on his coat. “You were always ruled by your heart,” said Ozai, “and woefully scant on brains.”

“I figured _you_ out, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you made one fatal mistake.”

“What’s that?”

“Telling me so when we were alone.”

His hands reached for Zuko, wrapping around his throat and squeezing hard. But just then, he heard the hospital room door slam open; and a moment later, his father vanished from his spotty vision, and a voice declared, _“Get off of him!”_

A face appeared above him. “Detective!” said Acharya, looking into Zuko’s eyes and breathing a sigh of relief when he found life there. “Are you all right?”

Zuko nodded. “I’m fine,” he choked out. “Katara?”

“She’s holding your father back. Don’t worry.” 

“I’m not.”

A flurry of security guards blew in, securing Ozai and preparing to escort him to the very precinct he tried so hard to protect. Katara, out of breath but dependable as ever, came to his bedside, those big blue eyes filled with worry. “Are you hurt?” she asked. “We were listening right outside the door.”

They looked back at Ozai, handcuffed and fuming in the doorway. Acharya, head held high, said to him, “Enjoy these last moments, _Chief,_ because you won’t be seeing beyond the prison yard for quite some time.”

Ozai scowled. “You’re no son of mine, Zuko.”

Zuko mustered the little strength he had left and propped himself up on his elbows, staring at his father. He finally understood his uncle’s quiet remarks about Ozai and why he was eager to steer Zuko away from his path. “Thank you.”

He collapsed once again while nurses flocked into the room and around his bed, checking his vitals. Katara was among them, barking orders to the nurses like she was born to it. Zuko smiled up at her. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

Her iron focus wavered just a little in the form of a smile on her face. Brief, but comforting. And then surprise swept across her face and she gasped. “I almost forgot!”

She reached behind his pillow and pulled out the third miracle: her cell phone, the voice-recording app open and active. She ended the recording and tucked the phone safely in her pocket. “How long was that there?” he muttered.

Katara glanced side-eyed at the nurses. “The moment your father came to visit.”

He exhaled, long and relieved. That phone had a full confession from the chief of police. An acknowledgment of his crimes and evidence of bribery. His father was going away for a long, long time.

It was over. It was all over.

Zuko saw plenty of visitors over the next few days who seemed determine to outdo one another’s indignity by being furious on his behalf. Katara never left his bedside after the episode with Ozai, outdone only by Uncle Iroh in vigilance. Iroh was never an angry man but the scowl on his face whenever someone brought up his father chilled Zuko to the bone.

Toph came by, too, and said she planned on reconnecting with her parents so they could pull strings and get the best prosecutor for Azula’s trial. In fact, if Katara hadn’t stopped her, he was sure she would have gone down to the prison herself to deliver some Toph-brand crime and punishment.

It was refreshing when Sokka came by with Yue on his arm because Sokka wasn’t concerned with retribution or anger. He was thankful his baby sister was okay and cheerfully goofy when discussing the events of the past week.

“It’s really only been a week?” Sokka replied, looking at him through one swollen purple eye. “You’re a mover and a shaker, huh, Zuko?”

“You should be more careful!” chided Yue, who’d been beside herself when she saw Zuko’s condition. She wasn’t quite as hostile as before; it seemed she just couldn’t abide seeing anyone injured. And Sokka, who wore his heart on his sleeve, must have thought that endearing.

Acharya had come to see him, too, to thank him for finding justice. “And for protecting Katara,” he’d said, when Katara had gone to fetch more watered-down coffee. “I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t.” Republic City lived and died on favors. It was time to stop the cycle. “I’ll only ask one thing, Councilor.”

“Call me Aang,” he replied. “What?”

“What’s Katara’s favorite flower?”

Acharya blinked, and then smiled softly. “She really likes lotuses .”

One afternoon saw Zuko and Iroh alone, playing mahjong (and Iroh, a skilled player, was being very kind to his nephew). It was peaceful and slow, with two steaming cups of jasmine tea his uncle had smuggled in. 

Iroh smiled gently as he won another round. “I’m sure your mahjong skills will return with time. How’s your memory doing?”

“Some things are coming back.” The details of his shooting were pretty spotty, but some sights and sounds were emerging from the darkness. “I thought…I could have sworn I heard Azula scream.”

His face fell. “Ah.”

His heart monitor beeped faster. “Uncle, was she shot? In retaliation?” And why did it take him this long to remember it?

“As far as I know, no. She was arrested at the scene and went to jail.”

“Huh.” He frowned. “Why did she scream, then?”

“Hmm.” Iroh ran his finger along the rim of his cup. “Perhaps your mother was finally getting through to her.”

“I don’t understand.” What did their mother have to do with all this? 

“Your mother loved you and Azula very much, but I’m sure you recall that she and Azula did not get along very well.”

“Yeah, to say the least.” Azula was a precocious and defiant child who scorned sentiment, seeming to resent their mother up until the moment of her death.

“Even though Azula was difficult in your mother’s illness—which is not uncommon in young children—your mother loved her with her whole heart. But your father had his claws in your sister by then. You remember how she hung on his every word. It’s very hard to hear anything else when Ozai’s whispering in your ear.”

Zuko’s hands balled into fists. “I know.”

“You know what it’s like to be criticized by your father, but not praised,” he replied. “Azula knows it the other way around. Perhaps it is an optimistic way of looking at things, but I think when Azula realized she’d gravely hurt you, some of your father’s grip on her may have loosened and she realized what she had done.”

“And what, she felt sorry?” He chuckled humorlessly. “I’m not sure Azula’s capable of love, Uncle.”

“What a terrible thing to say!” 

He fell silent. Azula was a reckless, resentful monster, but maybe Iroh was right. He was shocked when he uncovered the truth of her guilt, maybe out of blind love. 

She poked at his sensitivities quite often but pulled away before she could do any damage. She was a selfish braggart, but before all this, he couldn’t bring himself to resent her. If he could find a way to love her, even if that love was thorny and painful, was it so impossible that she loved him, too?

“I never thought she got the short end of the stick,” he said. “I thought it was always me. She had Father’s approval all her life.”

Iroh scowled. “But your father has a way of twisting people up.”

“No, he chews them and spits them out.” An old instinct rose in him, the instinct to crave his father’s pride, but now he could see it was nothing more than a heavy iron chain. “I got away from him when he fired me, and I learned he was nothing but a cruel monster. Azula never had that chance.”

Iroh patted him on the shoulder. “I think you’re finally on a path to happiness, Zuko,” he said, packing up the mahjong tiles. “I think now that those two are behind bars where they belong, you can step out of your father’s shadow.”

His father’s shadow warped Zuko until he was a shell struggling to be the things so prized by Ozai. But he was not his father’s son—he was true and just, and he refused to bow in the face of wrongdoing. He would be the son his mother could be proud of.


	12. The Nightmare is Over

An unexpected benefit of being laid up in the hospital was being visited by Katara throughout his days there. Yes, she was back to work, but her work was the hospital so when she wasn’t dashing out on a call to save more lives, she was visiting him and bringing news of the outside world (her roommate’s recent breakup was, for lack of a better word, good chitchat fare; it was nice to get back to something worldly and low-stakes). Katara looked happier and brighter—not to mention splendid especially in that EMT uniform.

One day, when she was visiting him after the end of her shift and the tide of visitors had stopped for the day as Iroh went home for supper, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

“I haven’t paid you!” she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth. “In all the chaos, I plumb forgot.”

He held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, as firmly as his frail body would allow. “I mean it.”

She scoffed. “You took a bullet for me. The least you deserve is the fee you charge!”

“Very well. If you insist.”

“Good.” Relieved, she went searching through her bag for her wallet. Did she mean to pay him here and now? “What’ll it be?”

“Exactly one evening where you’ll allow me to arrive at your doorstep with a bouquet of lotuses and plans to show you a night on the town.”

Her grin grew slowly but soon it lit up the entire room. He began to smile, too, as he added, “Whether you take me up on that offer is up to you, Miss Ashoona.”

She put her wallet away. “How’d you know lotuses were my favorite?” she asked with a coy smile.

“I’m a detective. It’s my job to find things out.”

She moved to perch on his bedside, her hand finding his. “I have every intention of spending plenty of time with you, _Detective,”_ she said, “but I don’t think we should start on a quid pro quo.”

“Oh, yeah?” His eyebrow lifted. “How do you suggest we rectify it?”

“By doing something I wish I’d done a while ago.”

She leaned in and kissed him gently, her hands cradling his face like he was a china doll. Hers were rough hands, capable hands, and while she tried to be careful at first, her kisses grew into the fire he admired so well.

They were both beaming when she pulled away. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured.

“Can’t believe what?”

“That I nearly put this on hold.” Her eyes dimmed. “I asked you to wait for me, but then I almost lost you.”

“But you didn’t.” His hand lifted, cupping that beautiful face. “Can I tell you something, Katara?”

“What?”

“I think we’re finally out of the past.” They had both been chained by what they’d lost; it was time to celebrate what they found. “I’d much rather enjoy my future, because I don’t intend to give it up for a long time. And I’d like if you were in that future, for however long you’d like to stay.”

She didn’t say anything. She kissed him again and again until his wounds ached, which was answer enough.

Katara approached her mother’s grave, the dirt just barely settled and the flowers a little brown around the edges of the petals. She stood there, pulling her coat tighter against the cold creeping in from the first chilling days of autumn, and let silence curl around her. Where was she to begin? So much had happened since she’d last been here, triumphs and downfalls and nightmares . Maybe none of that mattered, and all that mattered was the thing she was never able to say the day her mother was buried.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” she said. “Mom, I wish you’d told me what was happening, because maybe we could have done something to help. I wish you would have listened when we begged you to let us in. You were doing the right thing and others are following in your footsteps, but it’s not enough. It will never be.”

Tears were cascading down her cheeks. She was exhausted from crying and grieving and worrying…but she finally felt the burden being lifted. It may very well be over. Hadn’t Zuko said something like that?

Her heart lightened at the thought of Zuko, and all they had accomplished together. “We found your killer. She was right in front of us all this time. Zuko thinks he should have known all along, but I’m just glad she’s behind bars. I think you’d like Zuko, Mom. He’s smart, and sweet, and more dependable than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s one in a million.”

She turned around and gestured to Zuko, who was leaning against her car and watching her with a protective eye. “Come over!” she called. “I want you to meet Mom!”

His eyes widened but he walked over (slowly, since his body still had a good deal of healing ahead of him), joined her side and obliged her. “I wish we could have met, Mrs. Ashoona. You’re a hero.”

Zuko’s eyes met hers and he gave her a smile. “Can you tell me about her?”

“She was kind, and so stubborn,” said Katara. “I’m not sure Dad ever won an argument in their entire marriage.”

“Hm. Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Hush.” She nudged him ever so gently, mindful of the condition his body was in. It was first day out of the hospital and he’d insisted on coming here with her while his uncle waited in their tea shop. Zuko was really something else, wasn’t he?

“Can I show you something?” he asked suddenly. She nodded, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through it and handed it over. The screen displayed a photo of a page of Katara’s mother’s handwriting

“How did you get this?” she muttered. “Didn’t we just prove your sister’s guilt because she had evidence?”

“Acharya called in a few favors for me. Gave me five minutes in an evidence locker—under his supervision, of course.” He zoomed in on the corner of the picture, which clearly showed a page of her mother’s notebook, the last scribbles that built a damning case of the city’s police. At the bottom, one name was circled: Huo.

“She figured it all out,” said Zuko. “She figured out my family was involved and set out to prove it.” 

Of course, she did. Her mother was sharp as a tack. But… “If she knew it was your family, why didn’t she take precautions?”

“My guess is that she met my sister to look for ironclad proof,” he replied. “She had suspicions but no smoking gun. She probably realized my father was behind it all, but not that my sister was acting on his orders. She probably figured—”

“That his beloved daughter was the closest to him, and that she had the proof he needed.” She held the phone to the hollow of her throat. She felt her mother’s protective embrace as well as the gratitude and pride that waited at the end of her trail. “She didn’t know she was meeting with a murderer. With _her_ murderer.”

“I don’t know why Azula kept the damn thing.” He shook his head. “We found it by chance. I thought she’d do a better job of covering her tracks.”

But Katara knew the answer. She knew it clearly when she watched Azula go to pieces the second after shooting her brother. “Because she wanted to be found.”

He snorted. He really, actually snorted. “You don’t know my sister.”

“I saw her face when you collapsed, Zuko. She didn’t _want_ to hurt you. Maybe she did before that moment, but the realization came crashing down when you were bleeding. She screamed and sobbed like she was awakening from a nightmare.”

He folded his arms, only to wince and set them back at his sides. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t really know, honestly. It just seemed to me that it took hurting you to come to her senses. She seemed more…I don’t know. Trapped, I guess? Trapped in her own mind. Which is awful.”

He frowned. “I never thought I’d feel sorry for my sister,” he said, “and I never thought you would either.”

“But here we are.”

“Here we are.”

As they walked from her mother’s grave to his family’s crypt, she marveled at the turn of events between them. They met very briefly in this same cemetery and then they set out on a dangerous mission to find her mother’s killer, who turned out to be hiding in plain sight the whole time. And despite having known him a _very_ short while, Katara trusted him absolutely. It was difficult not to trust someone who saves your life—and even beyond that, she had seen how victims of a shared danger tend to come closer for it. She and Zuko had been through one hell of a _something,_ something that she couldn’t yet find the right words for.   
_Adventure_ and _journey_ sounded too thrilling and wonderful, but few words could sum up the scope of the something they’d been through.

At any rate, she knew it wasn’t finished. Not when Zuko looked at her like that, with warmth and tenderness and sweetness. They’d unraveled her mother’s murder but Zuko was another mystery entirely, one she was intent on getting to the heart of.

The Huo family crypt was cobwebbed and dusty, as all crypts should be. They weren’t meant for the living to linger in, squandering their precious gift that fizzled out all too soon.

Zuko placed a wilting bouquet of lilies on a casket. “You’d think the hospital gift shop would have fresher flowers.” 

“I’m glad they’re putting their expertise into medicine and not horticulture.” She stooped to read the plaque next to the coffin. “Ursa’s a beautiful name.”

“She was a beautiful woman inside and out.” His frown sliced across his face, settling into old grooves carved by loss. “I don’t know what she saw in my father. Do you think she saw how evil he was? I mean, she couldn’t have—she would have taken me and Azula away from him, right? Right?”

Katara’s eyes narrowed. “I listened to the recording, Zuko. Of your father’s confession.”

He turned to look at her. His eyes were shocked, unguarded, vulnerable. Despite seeing him in the hospital, this was the first time she’d seen him in such a state. “Why?”

“I was making a copy in case something mysterious happened to this evidence, too. My point is that your father was _charming.”_

“What are you talking about?”

“He was trying to disarm you, Zuko. He wanted you in his good graces because he didn’t know if you figured it out. You would never talk if he was back on your side. Hell, he managed to sway _me_ into letting him in your room.”

“So what?” he asked, turning on her. A muscle was jumping in his jaw. “So, what if my father’s a sweet-talker?”

“I’m just saying that, well, manipulators are good at charming people. Your mother might have been under his spell. Or she could have seen him for what he was, and that trying to take his children from him could hurt her and the kids. He had a lot of power. He could have done a lot to make your lives hell.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m an EMT. I’ve seen a lot of people married to manipulators. They’re regulars in the ER. And they keep coming back because the people who hurt them cast a spell on them. It’s really hard to break that spell.” 

Her hand found the tender flesh of his healing bullet wound, perfectly in the center of his chest. His sister had excellent, deadly aim. “You barely managed to get out under the worst of circumstances. Some people aren’t even that lucky.”

He looked at her, but she got the sense that he was looking through her, like he was trying to say so much more if only he had the words. It seemed he finally gathered them when he whispered, “My father bullied me and brainwashed my sister, and I don’t even know what he did to our mother. All this death and pain was because of _him.”_

“But it’s all over.” She embraced him so, so gently. “You’re so brave, Zuko. The important thing is that it’s all over, and you can be happy now.”

His arms wrapped around her. They stood in the crypt for a long moment, finding solace in the silence, until he murmured, “I’d say I have a good head start.”

They left soon after, retreating into Katara’s car and heading out of the cemetery. “Do you think she would have liked me?” she asked. “Your mom, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, with utter confidence. She would’ve liked anyone who makes me this happy.”

She grinned at him and took his hand on the armrest. “Glad to hear it. Now, your uncle has some jasmine tea waiting for us, I understand.”

“Yeah.” Together they drove back to Republic City, made a little brighter and a little cleaner by their teamwork. This wasn’t so bad, she thought; a great guy in a fascinating profession that made her future glimmer. Yeah, she and Zuko had a future—they worked too well together to give each other up. So Zuko would recover and go back to work, but she wouldn’t be far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This was such a fun project for me and I'm so glad I got to share it with you! Lemme know what you think in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'll update every week, so let me know what you think!


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